


Partners

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: Impossible Arc [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Case Fic, Duo POV, Healing, Heero POV, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Past Brainwashing, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Slow Burn, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-24
Updated: 2006-06-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 06:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: In the wake of Heero's mission, Duo Maxwell must face his own insecurities and decide whether or not he can be the person Heero needs.





	Partners

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

Une had used the term “false memory construction” but I’ve always called a spade a spade and as far as I’m concerned, brainwashing is still brainwashing.

Shit.

I can’t begin to imagine how those assholes had managed to pull it off. And I’m pretty sure Heero would like to know the answer to that question as well. But he’s not in any condition to discuss it at the moment.

Damn. I’ve never seen him like this before. I mean, I’ve seen him angry, focused, grim, amused, resigned, and expressing a plethora of other emotional states... but I’ve never seen him so... lost.

And I can’t help feeling somewhat responsible. Hadn’t I just recently wished for a chance to see what this man is made of? Hadn’t I been morbidly fascinated by his mortal struggle? Hadn’t I wanted to know what Heero’s limits were? And now here I am, wrapping a blanket around him as best I can as he’s huddling in the corner of my second-hand couch.

How had the wish I’d formed from pure, morbid fascination managed to come true when every other appeal I’d ever sent out into the void had been blithely ignored?

Perhaps there really is something about me that draws the attention of malevolent spirits to the people I care about.

Wait...

Had I really just used the “C” word in reference to Heero Yuy?

Shit, I guess I had.

And, what’s more. I guess it’s true. I _do_ care about the guy. But, then, why wouldn’t I? Especially after the last two weeks plus we’ve been through together? Still, it seems weird to come right out and admit it. But then, the whole damn situation seems weird. Still, Twilight Zone or no, he needs me right now and my standing here looming over him is not exactly helping.

Following instincts I don’t normally acquiesce to, I crouch down next to him on the edge of the couch and gently curl my arms around his shoulders. I almost expect him to resist the embrace, but he doesn’t. He settles his weight against me and sighs.

What is it about the warm weight of another person leaning into you? Why does the trust that single action implies cut you open every time? I almost wish he’d cry; then I’d feel uncomfortable and awkward instead of... raw and open.

God, had I just sat down and pulled him into my arms? Jesus Christ. I had. I must be completely insane. This is Heero Yuy for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t need me. He has _never_ needed me. I’ve been useful, handy, convenient, efficient, a means to an end... but he’s never, _ever_ needed anything from me.

But then, why is he curling closer to me, resting his cheek on my shoulder, sitting with his thigh pressed against the outside of one of mine?

This young man hurting so silently in my arms can’t possibly be the Heero Yuy I know. I must have eaten some of those funny mushrooms for breakfast or something... You know what they say about space shuttle food, right?

But here we are. I’m sitting on my beat-up, lumpy couch with Heero practically in my lap. And I wonder what’s going to happen when he comes to his senses and realizes where he is right now.

Three weeks ago, I would have expected... Actually, I don’t know what I would have expected. And even now I’m drawing a blank. It’s so easy for me to recall that complete lack of expression he’d gifted me with right before he’d slugged me in the gut on X18999 and I keep deferring to that moment... keep wondering if I’ll see that look again... and I wonder if I’ll be able to take it a second time.

But when I stop and think about it, that concern – let’s not call it fear, all right? – doesn’t really make any sense. I mean, Heero hasn’t said a mean word to me since... since... Damn. I can barely remember a time or two during the first war. And the only time he’d ever hit me had been during that Mariemaia mess. Even the indifference he’d shown me during the first war and the Eve Battle has been completely absent since he’d joined the Preventers. So why am I entertaining these lingering expectations?

I don’t really know. If I sit here long enough and force myself to think about it, I’ll probably figure it out. But let’s be serious. I’m a world-class procrastinator when it comes to emotional stuff and introspection and crap like that. Besides, I’d rather just lean back against Heero and marvel at the evidence that the friendship we’d tentatively started building during Heero’s convalescence has survived the trip to Earth.

So that’s exactly what I do.

And when Heero falls asleep in my arms, I just continue sitting here, holding him. I suppose I ought to lay him down. It would be better for his still-healing body. But I don’t want to let go quite yet.

I almost smile as I realize here is yet another issue I don’t want to think about.

Later, I tell myself. I’ll think later. For now, I just want to be warm and needed for a change.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

I’ve never woken up in someone’s arms before.

In fact, I’ve never come awake so slowly it felt more like I was drifting into one of those beautiful but transient dreams I always forget the details of upon my moment of waking.

But as my eyelids gradually drift open, I know that I’m not dreaming. I know that the wrinkled Preventer uniform I have my cheek pressed against and the shoulder it conceals is Duo’s. That realization in and of itself is more than enough to soothe me back into sleep.

I shift closer to him and feel myself drift on the lazy ebb and flow of consciousness. I’m not sure exactly how long I linger like this. But I know that when the synapses in my brain do actually start firing, I’ve managed to get myself into a rather precarious situation.

I’d just slept the entire day away in Duo’s arms. Perhaps I’d even drooled on his shirt. I ought to be mortified. Once again, I’m leaning on him without regard for his preferences in the matter. But if this is my first, last, and only opportunity to experience the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, then I’m going to take my sweet time and relish it, damn it.

Of course, I’d never anticipated him already being awake...

“It’s about time you came around,” Duo hums in a soft but amused whisper.

Oh, Christ. I sit up quickly, forcing down the blush I know is trying to creep up my neck. I make a show of rubbing the crust from the corners of my eyes and the circulation back into my stubbly cheeks.

“First order of business,” Duo begins, shifting next to me and consequently hissing in a sharp breath, “is coaxing the circulation back into my arm.”

I glance at him apologetically from beneath my bangs.

He replies with a gentle smile which I find myself returning.

“And the second order of business?” I hear myself ask.

He huffs out a brief sigh and states baldly, “Isolating your point of memory fuckage, my man.”

Just that quickly, the warmth I’d borrowed from Duo deserts me. “I...” And my throat closes before I can finish my reflexive denial.

But, Duo understands. He leans closer to me and settles his hands on my shoulders. I tell myself my body is still weak – that I’m still exhausted – from everything that’s happened to me and _that’s_ why I lean into his touch.

“Heero...” he tells me on a whisper of sound. “You can’t let this overtake you. We both know – if you ignore it – the damage...”

I close my eyes and nod. I know the risks. The battle to undo the manipulation of my mind will be a hard, up-hill battle as it is what with weeks having passed since the event had occurred. Yes, I know the risks. But I don’t know if I can do what has to be done.

But I have to try. After all, Duo will be reporting for duty next month. And I intend to be standing next to him when that happens.

Still... can I open myself to him so completely? I flinch a little at the idea of allowing _anyone_ unrestricted access to my mind. But I trust him. And I trust him to not only act in my best interests but to make what has to be done as easy for me as possible. His unwavering presence in my therapy sessions had shown that truth to me.

“We’ll have to take precautions,” I hear myself whisper. “I was conditioned to resist psychological manipulation...” I don’t have to tell Duo that many of the methods of resistance I’d been trained to perform are lethal.

His fingers tighten on my shoulders and even though I’m not meeting his eyes or even looking at his face I can feel his smile like a soothing balm on my prickly skin.

“Yeah...” he agrees. “That’s what I figured.”

And that’s also why it’s so imperative that we understand exactly how the doctors on the reformed Lunar Base had managed to plant the suggestion that I’d already contacted Duo. Why had my training failed? And if it had happened in this case, could it happen again? Could I fail my mission or – God forbid – Duo in the future because my abilities had become unpredictable?

The very thought of something happening to Duo because my training had failed us firms my resolve to uncover exactly what had happened in outer space. In fact, that horrifying possibility erases all lingering traces of hesitance. This has to be done. My own life and questionable mental stability is one thing, but I cannot allow myself to endanger Duo.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally look up and meet his empathizing gaze with a hard look of my own. Before the slight stirring beneath my breastbone can manifest into something more than the faintest of tingles, I hear myself demand, “When do we start?”

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

Contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot. Arrogant as fuck, maybe. But definitely _not _an idiot.

So when Heero had looked at me with that “I’m-ready-to-stomp-on-a-pacifist-with-my-Gundam” gleam in his eyes, I’d known a little redirection hadn’t only been a good idea, but absolutely necessary. It’s a damn good thing redirection is one of my spe-ci-al-i-ties.

I smile easily into that glare and quip, “Not tonight, that’s for damn sure. There’s a hot pizza, made by someone who isn’t me, calling my name.”

Both the tension and the hard edge in his features soften just a bit and a ghost of wry expression accompanies his answer, “You’re not going to order pineapple on it, are you?”

“Hell, yeah!” I reply. “On _my_ half. You can have whatever the hell you want on yours.” I stretch back over the arm of the couch toward the side table and scoop up the cordless hand set. I’m a firm believer in the fact that not everything in life ought to be handled via vidphone. I suppose it’s one of the manifestations – and a minor one at that – of the association of anonymity and safety that had been drilled into me during my... well, not _childhood_... let’s call them my “younger years.”

I settle back on the couch and allow my body to over balance a little so that I’m leaning against Heero’s shoulder again. He needs to feel the lack of tension in my body. Sometimes, words and facial expressions will only go so far... especially where paranoid ex-soldiers are concerned.

I breathe in Heero’s scent, smiling slightly as it warms me from nose to navel, and activate the channel. I glance at him and mutter, “Whatcha want, man?”

He smiles ever so slightly at me and I feel the lingering hesitation drain out of him. “Canadian bacon and black olives,” he tells me automatically but his eyes are communicating something else entirely.

“Predictable,” I sigh with mock disappointment.

He arcs a brow at me and I find myself lifting the arm between us to rest my elbow on the back of the couch in order to ruffle his chaotic hair. I can feel the heat from his scalp against my palm and I think I feel a slight increase in pressure as well. As if he’s leaning into my touch.

I punch the speed dial button on my phone. Cradling it against the ear closest to Heero, I wait for the local delivery place to pick up.

“You actually have that on speed dial?” he asks with a genuine grin.

“Of course.”

Again, that damn eyebrow goes up. “Of course?”

“Well, think about it, man,” I tell him. “If you’re too tired to actually feed yourself at the end of a shitty day, are you gonna wanna look up a phone number?”

Heero blinks and looks at me, considering. And that’s when the call finally connects. He watches me order a half-and-half extra large pizza, shaking his head slightly and gifting me with a somewhat bemused grin.

I am completely aware that I’ve just done a total one-eighty. Meet Duo the Dork. His talents include – but are not limited to – inducing relaxation in others through fluffy, dumb humor. It’s one of my most effective weapons and I settle into that particular behavioral groove with enthusiastic ruthlessness.

Yes, _ruthlessness._ This is only one step in the long, delicately arranged technique I’d decided on while Heero had been asleep in my arms. Basically, the progression will happen as follows: 1) establish the problem so that Heero is subconsciously aware of the friendly interrogation I will have to perform; 2) get him to see the necessity of said interrogation and agree to its use; 3) use whatever means – bodily contact and humor included – to encourage his relaxation until he’s completely unguarded; and finally, 4) while giving him the appearance of complete safety and control, start picking through his memories.

Like I said. Arrogant as fuck.

But I _do_ honestly believe I can accomplish this. I mean, Heero _knows –_ on _every _ level – that it’s absolutely necessary... and – most importantly – he trusts me. Hell, the man had just slept curled up in my _arms_, for the love of God.

So I tell him stupid jokes, old stories and anecdotes. We do some light reminiscing over past amusements. The pizza comes. We eat. And when he leans back against my shoulder again, his eyelids drooping with satisfaction and his body a limp, warm weight against me, I know it’s now or never.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

I’ve never met anyone as charismatic as Duo Maxwell. That is an unavoidable fact. He is a master manipulator of not only his own behavior but of others’ as well. It’s only his temper that gets him into trouble on occasion... and those occasions tend to be rare.

So when he’d started with the jokes and the half-hugs and hair-ruffling, I’d let myself be carried away by it. I’d wanted a diversion from the whole damnable mess and Duo had offered me one.

And a damned enjoyable diversion at that.

I sigh soundlessly and sink even further back against his side. I can feel his arm resting across my shoulders and his hand moving over my upper arm in a light massage. His other hand moves against the inside of my wrist which is resting on my thigh. I am bracketed by his arms and, thus, his warmth. I feel centered and safe.

“There now,’ he whispers, pressing his cheek against my hair. I turn toward his neck and feel a smile pushing at my lips. “I’ve got your back, Heero. You’re my partner and I _always_ look after my partner.”

I lean even closer, warming at the assurance. I don’t think too much about how much these words mean to me. I don’t think about much at all. I trust him so I simply let him take care of me. My comfort is so complete that I don’t even wonder at my uncharacteristic dependence on him. In this moment, everything simply makes _sense._

“So, it’s your turn to talk to me, Heero.”

“Hm?” I ask, vaguely wondering what he wants me to tell him.

“Well, how many stories have I told you tonight?”

I grin. Lots. I hadn’t known he’d had such an amazing repertoire of anecdotes. “Don’t know any good stories,” I mumble into his neck.

“Well... then tell me about Rupert Takahashi’s latest adventure.”

And I do. I hear his questions but I don’t really concentrate on them. As soon as they’re asked, I answer then forget about them. I don’t know how long I talk to him and I don’t really care. Sometime during my mutterings and his softly-asked questions, I find myself being maneuvered away from the back of the couch and Duo begins to rub my back in soothing, rhythmic sweeps of his palm. I don’t really feel it in my skin, but I can sense the pressure against my muscles. In response, I rub my thumb back and forth over his hand. When I’d grasped it in my fingers I don’t clearly recall, but I’m pleased to have it in my possession.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep but I know I must have. Because when I blink open my eyes, I’m sprawled on top of Duo and both of us are still on his lumpy, ugly couch. But this time, he’s asleep.

At first I think he must be faking his slumber because his arms are still snug around me. Disbelieving, I wait for a good solid fifteen minutes but his breathing never changes. That is, until his eyes start to shift beneath the pale lids. His lips part on a sigh and he pulls me closer. A slight smile touches his mouth and I’m glad I’ve at least given him a pleasant dream in payment for all he’s done for me today. And then I realize that Duo has done far more for me that I’d thought.

He’d interrogated me.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

I almost laugh.

Here I’d been worried he’d try to force the information out of me and I would stop trusting him or clam up on him or go into some training-induced defense maneuver and hurt him. But none of that had happened because Duo hadn’t had to _force_ me to talk about anything. He’d gotten me to relax in his presence and had asked me to talk to him.

I can vaguely recall his questions; they’d all related to my last assignment in some way, shape, or form. But never once did I come out of the warm lethargy I’d been under.

Those few, niggling doubts I’d entertained regarding Duo’s ability to extract information now crumble to dust, completely obliterated.

And I feel a line of heat sizzle alarmingly through my body as I consider how efficient he had been. How easily I had allowed myself to be lead through his questions. How frightening this would be if I hadn’t already trusted him with total abandon.

It’s not a little scary to realize I’d allowed myself to be manipulated.

And it’s not a little disconcerting to realize Duo has that kind of power over me.

I watch him dream in silence for a moment more, wondering what I’d said, wondering if he’d managed to isolate the moment of memory contamination. I almost want to wake him up and quiz him about it... but I know I can’t. I’ve entrusted my mind to him and until Duo decides he’s collected all the information there is to be gotten from me, I can’t interfere.

So I lay my cheek back down against his chest and close my eyes.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

HQ, we have a problem.

Getting Heero to talk about the details of his assignment including the people he’d met, the conversations he’d had, the things he’d done and thought and felt had been way _too_ easy.

_Creepily easy,_ in fact.

I’d always been wary of easy battles... and this is most definitely _not_ an exception.

Ensconced in my workroom, I stab halfheartedly at the somewhat-disassembled carcass of a rusty, antique food processor someone had left out on the curb for the garbage collectors last month and sigh. I’d taken up trying to repair and modify the thing during Heero’s mission but I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause. Too much damage. But playing with the thing gives me an alibi. With Heero mucking about in my kitchen trying to make a semi-palatable meal from my extensive collection of non-perishables and me desperately needing some quiet time to study the information I’d gleaned from my partner last night, this had been the only place for me to go. I know I look engrossed in my task, which is the important thing. I don’t want Heero to wonder what I’m thinking about. It’s imperative that I appear to have everything under control.

But I don’t.

And while that’s bad, the possibilities that have arisen since last night are worse.

So, I sit at my worktable which is cluttered with all variety of mechanical bits and pieces and pretend to give a damn about the gizmo in my hands while replaying the story I’d carefully prodded out of Heero about twenty hours ago.

He’d told me everything I’d asked to know. Without hesitation and in as much detail as I’d wanted. But if he’d really been brainwashed by someone who’d known what they were doing, that shouldn’t have happened. There _should_ have been _some _resistance as I’d probed his memories. Something unaccountably and inexplicably vague. Evidence of significant time loss. A toneless quality in his voice.

And what had I found? Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Fuck.

And because it pertains to this situation, I’ll think it again: _Fuck!_

So, one possibility is that the guys who’d planted the false memory about Heero contacting me aren’t just good at brainwashing, they’re fucking geniuses. Not a comforting thought, that. But I’d rather deal with this option than the second I’d reluctantly acknowledged this morning.

Damn the Devil’s advocate half of my brain, anyway.

So here I am, glaring at the grimy remains of a twenty-year-old food processor trying to figure out what to do next while I’m praying to God I can keep my developing suspicions from coming across to Heero.

I’m still glaring when my cell phone rings and I absently scoop it up. I know it’s not Une. She’d already called and ordered me to haul Heero in so she could “council” him on his options as soon as possible. I’d told her to push off – in the nicest possible way, of course – and I’d very reluctantly offered to see what I could do... maybe. To say that Une isn’t my favorite person right now would be a hilariously bad understatement.

I glance at the caller ID display and arc a brow at the phone number.

“Yo, man. Whaddya want?” I sing into the phone as I peer into the guts of the former appliance.

Wufei sighs. “I’ll forgo the obvious inquiry as to which illegal stimulants you’ve used to sound so infuriatingly cheerful and just get to the point, shall I?”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” I quip even as I feel a smidgeon bit of sympathy for the exhaustion and anxiety in his voice. Only Wufei, God, and Une know exactly how much time he’s putting in at the moment what with the situation being what it is. And, if you ask me, God’s damn lucky Une keeps in the loop at all. I guess she figures having an omniscient being on our side might come in handy some day. You’d think she’d be happy with three former Gundam pilots on the payroll... but whatever.

Wufei manages a bit of humor to address my funless-bastard accusation: “Regardless, you were ready to marry me for my cooking a month ago.”

I bark out a laugh at that. “Oh, how quickly doth I forget,” I dramatize.

His immediate reply is a dismissive grunt and I know we’re moving on to the actual topic of his call. “Where’s Heero right now?”

“Trying to make something edible for dinner. I’m gonna give him another ten minutes before I call for delivery again.”

“Good,” he says curtly and I know he’s talking about the fact that I’m alone. He doesn’t give a good God damn what Heero’s doing or how much junk food I’ve eaten in the last forty-eight hours. “I’ve been examining the virus that’s been attacking the systems at the Lunar Base and I think you need to take a look at this before I submit my report to Une.”

“Uh... okey-dokey, I’ll swing by tomorrow morning. Gonna be bringing Heero with me, though.”

“Fine, get him in to see Une while I give you the disc and my notes. Hopefully that’ll keep her from stomping around the building for ten minutes so I can brief you on how the case is coming so far.”

Wufei’s admitted rationale doesn’t fool me. He’s not _really_ going to brief me in person; the case is still open and the information too sensitive to risk like that. No, he’ll put everything he needs to tell me on the disc. Besides, even with Une breathing down his neck, he would have figured out a way to bring me up to speed if he’d really wanted to. The truth is that Wuffers doesn’t want Heero to know he’s giving me the data on that virus or the latest news and events concerning the Lunar Base. Interesting. And disquieting.

“I’ll call you when I get there, ‘k?”

“Fine. Good night, Maxwell.” And with that exhaustion-infected grouch, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone for a moment and start to contemplate all of the possible variations of bad news Wufei could deliver but the screech of the kitchen-confined microwave forces me to put it out of my mind. I tuck the phone away and deliberately rearrange my thoughts and body language. Whatever Wufei had uncovered, I can’t let my speculations ruin all the progress I’ve made with Heero. I think I strain a critical mental muscle group in the process, but I manage it.

“So, when are we calling out for Chinese food?” I holler in the direction of the kitchen.

There’s a telling pause. I imagine Heero giving his concoction a tentative taste. And then: “As soon as you tell me which speed dial number it is!”

I laugh. We may be former Gundam pilots, once-feared fighters for justice and peace and colonial independence, but even _we_ can’t work miracles.

I try not to let that last thought bother me as I shout back the correct number and my order.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

I regard the number keys on Duo’s handset with no small amount of appreciation. He has quite the system worked out with the speed-dial: Preventer HQ emergency response, shuttleport reservations center, and no less than four different kinds of local, ready-prepared food delivery businesses to name a few. I briefly consider calling up all of the programmed numbers, but I know I’d only be checking to see how far down the list my contact information is. And I don’t want to sour the evening like that. It’s been a good day.

So, with our Chinese delivery order on its way, I wander in the direction of Duo’s spare bedroom, wondering what he’s up to. Leaning in the open doorway and crossing my arms over my chest, I end up watching him mutter at the inelegant remains of something that might have once been a very outdated food processor in his hands.

“I don’t think you’re winning,” I inform him with a tiny smile tugging at my lips.

He grunts. “It’s hardly the first losing battle I’ve fought.”

Too true. “Still, that thing is beyond help.”

Duo chuckles softly and glances up at me. “Nothing’s beyond help” is his quiet and knowing reply. And those few words are the catalyst for some warm and chaotic event inside of me. When the churning warmth settles down a bit, I relax back into the conversation. “That’s just your ego talking,” I hear myself tease him.

He releases a genuine laugh at that.

“Probably. I am one arrogant sonuvabitch,” he admits.

I drawl, “Then aren’t you and Chang a pair.”

“Oh, ho! And look at you: the only modest one of the three of us.”

And then it’s my turn to laugh. When I wind down, I find my gaze trapped in his. For a long moment, we simply stare at each other. But then, in a soft voice that doesn’t disturb the warm connection we’ve fumbled into, he invites, “Well, come on in and take a look at all the victims of my little hobby like I know you’re dying to.”

My smile widens. “Ulterior motives exposed yet again. Drat,” I monotone.

He snorts and returns to his latest “victim” and, after a slight hesitation, I sidle into the room and start poking through the various gadgets he’s repaired and foisted improvements of dubious practicality upon.

Several minutes leak past us before I hear myself mumble, “It’s too bad you’re an adrenalin junkie. You’d be a brilliant addition to the Tech department at HQ.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t like chatting it up with balding geeks about improving microprocessor efficiency.”

I briefly glance at him over my shoulder and grin. “That’s just the repression talking.” And I gain another chuckle for my witty rejoinder.

“Uh huh. And just what would Une do to me after I’d told her I was transferring out from under her watchful eye?”

“Hm,” I ponder briefly, “she’d probably assign me to tail you twenty-four-seven.” And I’m not a little startled to realize that tailing Duo Maxwell might very well be the best damn assignment I could ever hope for. And in an instant, I experience a near-blinding moment of clarity and truth: I really _would_ follow Duo Maxwell anywhere. Getting paid for doing it would only be an unanticipated bonus.

“Not unless you jump through her hoops to get reinstated first,” he cautions with sudden gravity.

The bolt of panic I experience surprises me. The very thought of Duo going back to work without me there to watch his back and fix his coffee and make sure he remembers to eat lunch scares me more than I’m prepared to deal with. “I suppose I should speak to Une about the steps we’re taking to make sure I’m... stable,” I acknowledge somberly.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the courtesy, Heero,” Duo tells me, looking up from his once-was-useful appliance. I can feel his gaze on my back, through the fabric of my shirt. “But you know you don’t have to...”

“No,” I quickly assure him. “I want to. It’s important. I want to go back to work...” _With you._

“Okay.” His reply is easy and light and I feel his gaze slide away from my tense back and return to the hopeless bit of almost-rubbish. “I’ll drive you to HQ first thing in the morning, then?”

I let out a long, hot breath in relief. “Yeah. Thanks.”

This time when I risk a glance over my shoulder at him, I get tangled up in his warm gaze. “Sure thing, man. Partners.”

And with those few words, I feel luckier than I ever have in my short, misspent life. Lucky to know him at all. Lucky to have lived through the war. Lucky to have been born in the first place.

The intensity of that conviction rocks me. Almost literally. In moments like this one, I tend to experience an epiphany... In the breathless instant after my usual defenses have been surprised away, a wave of understanding often overcomes me. Sometimes it almost feels like I’m drowning.

And tonight I’m pulled under so quickly I don’t have time to offer up even a token struggle.

Suddenly, I flash back to the war, to the time immediately following Quatre’s having succumbed to the Zero System. Trowa’s fate had been unknown and Quatre and I had been captured by Oz. The docs hadn’t wasted any time in hooking Winner up to various instruments and starting their analysis of why their perfect system had failed. Nor had they wasted any time in filling us in on events from their perspectives. I had listened in silence – hearing the words, processing the information – but consumed with something else entirely.

I hadn’t heard a single thing about Duo. Had he managed to escape despite his injuries? Or was he still in Oz custody? But even as the questions had burned through me, I hadn’t asked. The words had been hot and overlarge in my throat. Impossible to utter.

And then my mentor had told us that both Maxwell and Chang had made it out with their partially completed mobile suits. The relief I’d felt I’d always understood. No, what I’ve occasionally wondered about since then is why I hadn’t been able to ask in the first place.

But tonight, the answer to that comes to me:

I hadn’t asked because asking would have implied a willingness to accept any possible answer. And I’d only been interested in one outcome. And shocked as I am in the wake of that realization, I quickly deduce what the underlying sentiment implies.

Christ.

“Hey, Heero. You all right, man?”

The sound of his voice cuts through the buzzing white noise of my thoughts. “Fine,” I reply automatically. I frantically sift through my brain and latch onto the first semi-convincing lie that comes to me: something I’m relatively sure he’ll buy because he _wants_ to hear it. “I was just envisioning myself taking names and kicking ass again...”

Duo chuckles. “And here I was going to accuse you of spacing out on me.”

“Would I do that in your divine presence?”

“Well... you always did have something of a death wish,” he returns with a grin and a teasing tone.

“As if you’re one to talk,” I reply with a snort.

He hums mildly in agreement and we lapse back into comfortable silence. I find myself staring at the infamous toaster Duo had modified to talk. I’m tempted to turn it on and fetch a slice of bread to toast just so I can listen to Duo’s voice announcing the browning process. My favorite line is the “Here’s your hockey puck, sweetie!” that sounds after the machine has finished toasting on the darkest setting.

I smirk at the toaster and allow myself to get lost in the memory of this appliance’s unveiling. God, Wufei’s reaction had been positively precious...

Deep down, I know I’m putting off the inevitable. I know I’ll have to face that moment of self-discovery I’d just been dragged through by my subconscious. But not right now. Please God, not right now. I’ll deal with it... and everything else... tomorrow.

Notes

:: Heero’s flashback is from episode 26.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

I flop down without ceremony in the chair opposite Wufei’s desk and meet my friend’s scowl with a carefully constructed carefree grin. “So, whatcha got for me, Wuf-man?”

“And after that deplorable address, you expect me to give it to you?” he replies with a condescending expression and snide tone. The man must be absolutely exhausted to take a little light-hearted teasing this badly.

“Well, I didn’t work my magic to get Heero to suggest coming down here and talking to Une voluntarily – _against_ my better judgment, I might add – to come away with empty pockets, now did I?”

The mention of Heero seems to spark something a little more... humane in Wufei. “How is he?” is the softly asked follow-up.

I shrug. “Confused. In denial.” And I hesitate before I add, “Vulnerable.” It goes without saying that I _really_ wish he hadn’t fallen for my ploy and agreed to see Une this morning. Neither of us is quite ready for that.

A black eyebrow arcs again but the expression is speculative rather than condescending this time. “A truly alarming combination,” he agrees.

“Unprecedented,” I agree.

“Well, then. Let’s not dither about further.” And with that less-than graceful opening, Wufei hands over the highly anticipated disc. I pocket it smoothly and maintain my silence, sensing an introduction to the issue on the horizon.

I’m not disappointed.

“It’s obvious who wrote that virus. It’s got his signature all over it.”

“But?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

“But the information it contains is... highly unusual. It could help you pinpoint the source of the... damage.”

I don’t overlook the careful wording. Wufei hadn’t used a more definitive term than “unusual” for security reasons, but I have the distinct impression that the replacement of “brainwashing” for “damage” had been for an entirely different reason altogether. I can’t stop the wince as this subtle inference supports that aforementioned unfavorable second scenario I’d conceived after interrogating Heero. I don’t have to be told to keep this disc a secret from Heero until Wufei and I have some concrete possibilities for him.

“Roger that. Thanks, man.”

I watch as Wufei leans back on a drawn-out sigh of relief. That easily, I’ve assured him that I’m aware of the layered meaning he’d just tried to impress upon me and that I will be cautious with how I proceed.

“Well, seein’ as how you’re ass-deep in alligators here, I’ll just take myself back up to Une’s office.”

“Yes,” Wufei rallies, the moment of exhaustion quickly concealed. “I would appreciate it if you would restrain yourself from bothering me while you’re unoccupied.”

“Nooo problem,” I whirr cheerfully. “Later, dude.”

Back in the hall, I keep my smile on as I intermittently pass my fellow agents. I carefully box up my speculations and dread regarding the information in my pocket until it’s been stowed in a small and dusty – but air-tight – cabinet in my mind. The last thing I need is Heero wondering if I’d been wandering around conspiring behind his back while he’d been enduring Une’s pep talk.

With a charming grin at Une’s secretary, I slide into a visitor’s chair and settle into benevolent listlessness. It’s not two minutes later when Heero emerges. I deliberately squash the spike of alarm at how close I’d cut it. If Heero had walked out of Une’s office and not seen me... Well, I would have had to lie to him about what I’d been doing... And he would have become suspicious anyway. But it appears I’m quite the lucky bastard today.

“Well, I don’t see any open wounds,” I tell him as I stand up.

He steers us toward the elevators and replies dryly. “That doesn’t mean it was painless.”

“No. No, it doesn’t,” I admit easily.

As we approach the elevator bank, I recall the last time I’d stood here with Heero. Had it only been two days ago? Hell. A shitload has certainly happened since then. I’m still daydreaming about it when the doors slide open... and that’s my excuse for being completely floored at the sound of Relena Dorlain’s voice calling Heero’s name in obvious delight and surprise. Beside me, Heero seems equally startled.

“Relena,” he rasps out. “What are you doing here?”

She laughs. “It’s good to see you, too,” she scolds with good humor. She smoothly turns to me and we exchange automatic pleasantries before she shines a brilliant grin back on Heero again.

“I’m here to see Une about a budget meeting,” she says, finally answering Heero’s question. “But more importantly, what are _you _doing here? Consulting?”

I can feel myself frowning with confusion. Before I can wonder if she’d somehow found out about Heero’s precarious employment future with the Preventers, he replies.

“Um, no. It’s just... ah... Duo...”

“Ah, catching up?” she guesses with a grin.

Heero manages a nod.

“Well, don’t let anyone talk you into a uniform,” she warns him. “We both know you love your work too much to give it up for this thankless job. Even if you would be brilliant at it.” Her expression softens with genuine happiness. “But I _am_ glad you followed your dream to do something that doesn’t involve violence.”

I hear him grunt in automatic agreement.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Give me a call if you’re free for lunch before I leave Saturday morning, all right?”

“Sure,” he tells her and then both of us watch her stride purposefully down the hall. After a long moment, Heero turns back around and pushes the button to recall the elevator we’d missed in Relena’s wake. I occupy myself with staring at Heero.

“Dude...” I begin slowly, feeling my way through this sudden weird-as-hell situation. “You haven’t told her you joined the Preventers.” I’d intended for it to be a question... but it hadn’t come out that way.

“Obviously,” he replies dryly in that lifeless droning tone of his that I usually hate. Now is no exception.

Briefly I wonder if he’d deliberately omitted this information just to keep Relena happy and off his back, but something else nags at me. Something else that kind of clicks together inside my head...

“Your dream of doing something that doesn’t involve violence?” I parrot.

“Unnecessary violence,” he tries to amend. 

But I don’t buy it. 

I take a moment to study him – _really _study him – and I’m startled at the subtle disquiet I sense beneath his passive expression and squared shoulders. Suddenly, I’m remembering his oddly absent enthusiasm when I’d asked him during one of his physical therapy sessions if he had been looking forward to returning to work. And I’m also remembering the forced levity last night when he’d explained his spacing episode. Suddenly, it all makes absolute, perfect sense.

“You don’t really like this job, do you?” I blurt, almost breathless from the shock of it.

“No, I... it’s...”

I don’t wait for him to scrape together a complete sentence... or an excuse. I’m immediately angry with him for hiding this so well... and with myself for not having clued into it sooner. “You didn’t have to become an agent,” I continue in a frustrated tone, recalling his ringing endorsement last night of my techie skills. “You could have gone into Intel or –”

“What’s the difference?” he snaps in a surprising show of temper. “Either way I’m supporting actions that have the potential to hurt people. At least this way I can control how much.”

With that, the elevator doors slide open in front of us, revealing an empty car. We step in and Heero punches the button for the employee parking garage. It seems to me he hits the control panel with a bit more force than necessary. But I’m too busy trying to figure out why he’d bother lying to me about this to really take that warning for what it is.

Tongue on autopilot – as usual – I hear myself accuse, “That’s bullshit and you know it. Whether or not we hurt people isn’t up to us. It’s up to the suspect and how desperate he is.”

“Why do you care why I work here?” he challenges back and I know I’m close to the truth; he can’t think of a more convincing excuse to throw at me.

“Oh, gee. I don’t know,” I snark. “Because you’re my partner maybe? Because I give a damn? Do you think I want to trust my life to a guy who doesn’t really have his heart in it? I mean, what the _fuck_, Heero? I thought...”

“What?!” he almost shouts, rounding on me. “What did you think, Duo? That I _enjoy_ reliving the most painful moments of my life on a regular basis? That I _like_ being reminded of the fact that I’m a trained weapon?”

“Then why are you putting yourself through this?” I shout back. “You’ve got an ironclad excuse to get out of this place and get that perfect job you’ve been lying to Relena about-–”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect fucking job, Duo!”

“Like you’ve ever tried to figure that out for yourself! If you didn’t want this job, you shouldn’t have taken it!”

He growls at me. “My reasons are my own business and I’ll thank you to-–”

“Butt the hell out, right? Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing ever changes does it? You don’t give a good God damn about anything but your fucking righteous battles, do you? Not even your own wants as a fucking _person_ take priority over that shit!”

He crowds my space and I feel the moist warmth of his breath on my face as he spits out, “Do _not_ presume to know why I do what I do! You don’t know _shit_ about it!”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge like a rabid wolverine, pushing back into his space. “Well, there’s one thing I _know,_ Heero Yuy. I know I _sure_ as hell don’t want to work with someone who’s here out of survivor guilt or some such shit-priority!”

And before the last syllable has cleared my throat, I’ve been slammed up against the elevator wall and pinned there. I stare into Heero’s enraged face, stunned by the show of strength I’d forgotten he possesses. 

Gazes locked, he fairly roars, “My _only _priority is _you, _you stubborn ass!”

Oh. My. God.

My entire body freezes.

I think I even stop breathing.

I can feel my mind struggling to wrap itself around Heero’s admission and all it necessarily implies as we stand nose to nose, sharing each other’s heated breaths, bodies pressed together... intimately. In a Preventer’s HQ elevator.

It shouldn’t have surprised me when the doors suddenly whisper open – we _are_ in a public elevator, after all – but I flinch nonetheless. And that involuntary movement seems to be the catalyst which releases Heero from the moment we’d become frozen within.

With startling speed, Heero’s body heat abandons me and the only thing that prevents me from sliding to the floor is my own death grip on the waist-high elevator railing. One minute our bodies had almost been fused together in hot emotions and the next Heero has escaped the elevator entirely.

I should have gone after him.

But I hadn’t. Couldn’t. Had been utterly incapable of lunging forward to catch the door before it had closed. But as soon as the gears lurch into motion, I fall on the control panel and punch the button for the floor above the parking garage. The single flight seems to take forever and all I can think about is finding Heero. I don’t know what I’ll say... what I’ll do... what I _can_ do... But that doesn’t seem to be very important to my adrenaline-charged mind.

I’m almost vibrating before the car stops and I’m out the door before it’s finished opening. I clamber down the emergency stairwell to the parking garage in hot pursuit. I don’t bother with stealth. Heero has a fifteen second head-start: it’s all down to speed now.

But when I tumble out into the garage, my footsteps are the only ones I hear. I strain to locate evidence of his presence but there is none. And, somehow, I _know_ he’s not here. Not anymore.

I swear loudly and violently and glare at my unmolested and still-present car.

Holy fuck has this day gone downhill.

And in record time, too.

But really, what else can I expect from Heero Yuy? Things have the odd tendency of ending up broken in his wake. Olympic records and sound barriers not withstanding.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

It should have felt odd to take a page from Duo’s book and run like hell.

But it hadn’t.

I suppose I could blame that last mission and my struggle to adopt as many Duoisms as I possibly could...

But I don’t.

My flight had been fueled by pure fear. And I might be miles away from the site of my abrupt confession, but the information hasn’t changed. Oddly enough, I’m surprised by this. As if traversing a significant amount of distance has the power to erase a moment in time. But it doesn’t. And it doesn’t make my confession any less honest.

The truth is still the truth, after all. I don’t have to like it to recognize it as such.

I sink down onto the arm of my couch, my eyes riveted to the small, solitary figure of the only plant I own: the cactus Duo had given me. I try not to notice the fact that my couch isn’t nearly as comfortable as his is. I try not to dwell on the tiny, shriveled corpses of the small, pale flowers that had blossomed in my absence.

This is the perfect, clichéd scenario for the ever-popular self-recrimination: “Dear God, what have I done?”

But I don’t ask myself this question because quite honestly – and unfortunately – I know _exactly_ what I’ve done.

I’ve confessed the depths of my devotion to the one person who I’d follow to Hell and back. And it doesn’t help that the recipient of my devotion is an honorary schizophrenic with a phobia of deep, emotional introspections, a case of chronic near-violent emoting, a talent for Machiavellian manipulations, and borderline obsessive tendencies towards technology.

At least I’m not looking at him through damned rose-colored glasses. 

I snort at the thought.

But God, for all that Duo Maxwell _is_ a seriously fucked up mess, he is a genius.

Duo Maxwell can and _does_ manipulate me as easily as he handles a loaded gun, and believe me, I _know_ of what I speak. 

Last night’s conversation hadn’t been coincidence. I’d figured _that_ out as soon as I’d realized Une’s little lecture about my future had been too thorough and concise to be spontaneous. She’d no doubt asked Duo to bring me in. And I’d let Duo maneuver me into thinking the whole thing had been my idea to begin with.

He is underhanded and evasive and ruthless in the pursuit of his goals, no matter what those goals are.

And he is the one person I would choose to have by my side through anything.

I pause at that silent declaration and find that I have to amend it.

Duo Maxwell isn’t just the person I _would_ choose. He’s the person I _have chosen._

My eyes had finally been opened to this truth the night before when I’d realized the strength of my attachment to him. I wouldn’t just follow him into the proverbial Hell. I actually _had_ followed him into Hell. Into _my_ Hell. Into a life where my greatest fear hovers constantly over me like a great, invisible thundercloud, waiting for a moment in which I’m unguarded to strike.

Two years ago, the world had been on the verge of a second war and I’d answered the threat as I always had: as a trained killer. But I hadn’t anticipated the effects that intervening year of peace had had on me. On my psyche. I hadn’t realized I’d been changed by it. But I had. I’d poured everything I had into the role I’d had to play... but it hadn’t been enough. Even now, many events are fuzzy.

Why had I asked Duo to hit me only to have a fair chance to return the favor?

What had transpired in the Earth’s atmosphere when I’d fought Wufei?

How had I gotten into Dekim’s underground fortress?

These events and so many others are vague and blurred. My rationale for these decisions and my actions during these events elude me. I had only been a Gundam pilot again for twenty-four hours, and it had almost destroyed me. And I had almost killed needlessly. 

What if my gun hadn’t been empty?

What if I hadn’t murmured my deepest desire before I’d collapsed?

What if Relena hadn’t been there to hear it?

In the aftermath of the most traumatic battle I’d ever experienced, my subconscious had offered up something precious. Something I needed. Something to cling to. I had heard myself almost whisper in something akin to awe that I would never have to hurt anyone ever again.

And I’d meant it.

And yet, as much as I’d needed that, I’d needed Duo more.

I still do.

So I wander through an existence that – most days – doesn’t seem so bad really, following the one person I’d somehow tied myself to before I’d even been aware of having done so.

And now that he knows how I feel? Now that he knows I what I would give up for him... just to be near him... Now have I finally lost him?

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if there’s anything that I _can_ do. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I’d lost all control of the situation. And one thing is certain: I can no more influence Duo’s reactions than I can go back to being that impersonal weapon. Many people believe I haven’t changed – including Une – but _I _know. And I think both Duo and Wufei know, too.

And I have to trust in that. And I have to trust in the friendship I’d started to cultivate between myself and Duo. And I have to trust in the fact that I’d willingly placed my mind in Duo’s care. I have to trust that Duo will not disregard my actions these last few weeks. I have to trust that he will take them as proof of my sincerity.

There are only two downsides:

One: I’ve never been very good at blind trust.

And two: if Duo actually _does_ consider my actions as proof of my feelings for him, it will be a first.

I sigh and stare at my cactus. Duo’s cactus. The me that Duo sees.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

The best part about being a master of redirection is that I can – and _do _– easily apply those fantastic abilities to myself whenever needed.

It goes without saying, I think, that now is one of those needful times.

I very deliberately _don’t _think about what had just been said in that elevator and plop myself down onto the couch and turn on my laptop with a push of a button. I stare at the flickering screen as I wait for the programs to load and slowly twirl the disc Wufei had given me between my fingers.

I’d been in the process of violently yanking my car keys from my pocket in that too empty parking garage when I’d realized that I was currently carrying the perfect means for my own distraction.

I’m not proud of the fact that I’d jumped at the opportunity to wade through some other – _any_ other – situation than the one I’d just had shoved into my face this morning. But I’d nevertheless tuned my thoughts toward that disc and forced myself to start speculating about its contents just so I wouldn’t think about... well, you know.

Although I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to find when I open Wufei’s present, I know I’d better take all the precautions I normally would when viewing sensitive information on a unsecured line. I methodically go about the task of checking and double-checking that my laptop is completely unhackable and all of my important information has been backed up on a separate hard drive. I can’t afford to have this virus Wufei wants me to take a look at getting frisky with my techie wet dreams, now can I?

I guess, for all my denial, Heero was right last night when he’d claimed my protests against enjoying a good technical discussion over microprocessor efficiency were the result of repression.

It’s really quite amazing, actually, that Heero’s developed this weird ability to _see_ people. Really _see_ them. Hell, I trust his judgment of character almost as much as I trust my own. I might be unpredictable and – let’s be honest, shall we? – downright difficult to live with, but my instincts are never wrong.

Which is why Heero’s angry declaration had been such a shock. Wait. _Is_ such a shock. I mean, why would he feel...? And about _me_ of all...?

Wait a minute. Hadn’t I just decided I wasn’t going to think about this?

Yeah. That’s what I figured.

I shove the disc into the carrier slot on my laptop and loom over the machine humming on my coffee table as I wait for the file list to pop up. When it does, I don’t hesitate to choose the first of only two files: the virus.

The code scrolls across the screen and I find myself taking in the data as easily as most people scan the movie summaries on the backs of rental discs. I take note of the various components, feeling a grin tug at the corner of my mouth at the command that will send a subtle invitation to my personal email address. Of course Heero would write in a secret back door for me. He knows what desk duty does to me, after all.

I shake my head and continue reading. The entire document is fairly complicated and a few details actually raise my eyebrows a bit. Either Heero’d had _way_ too much time on his hands or his sense of humor is _way_ more morbid than I’d been led to believe.

The true intent of the virus is camouflaged by sprinklers that activate and deactivate randomly and bidets in the men’s bathrooms squirting anyone who passes by... This last bit I see is dependant upon security motion detectors in the restrooms. The existence of those devices doesn’t raise any suspicions. Motion and heat detectors are standard issue in all space building designs.

There’s also evidence of microwaves in the private apartments being programmed to beep two hours after the lights go out in the place... and continue beeping until someone opens the appliance’s door.

And of course the temperatures on the hot and cold water reservoirs have been reversed.

Christ, Heero must have been positively bored out of his tree on that mission to think up all these innovations and meticulously program them.

And I can’t help but chuckle as I go through the list.

Metal ceiling panels in the hallways that seemingly spontaneously magnetize.

I chortle as I imagine paperclips and staples being pulled upward and out of the grasp of a startled scientist making his rounds.

Shoe-shining receptacles that use the wrong color polish and dab smiley faces into the leather.

Driers that operate at 300%... _broiling_ the clothes dry... and undoubtedly smaller in the process.

Locking mechanisms in the data storage room that don’t respond to the first five tries... even with the correct code...

Wait a minute.

I reread that line with a dark frown.

The data storage room had been where I’d found Heero... where the solar panels are located... where Heero had been trapped and... crispened_._

I scan further down until I locate the very last malfunction Heero had programmed.

And when I find it my fingertips freeze right where they are, suspended over the keyboard.

It’s impossible.

But it makes so much sense.

I back up and reread the virus. I reexamine the malfunctions. I tell myself not to panic. Yet.

I force myself to read Wufei’s report, but unfortunately, he’s arrived at the same conclusion I have. And having had access to Heero’s laptop after it had been collected and sent to HQ, he’s got even _more _evidence to support his conclusion. The conclusion I had suspected last night. The conclusion I _hadn’t_ wanted to be right about.

God damn it all to hell.

I take only enough time to activate the sleep mode on my laptop, slam the lid shut, and tuck it under my arm. I barely remember to grab my car keys and cell phone _and_ stuff my feet into a pair of shoes. I’m panicking, I know. But I don’t care.

Because if I’m right – and I think I am – Heero’s life could be in danger.

Right. Now.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

Follow your emotions.

Of all the instructions and advice I’ve ever received in my life, that’s the one piece that I have always carried with me. And it’s the only piece I’d ever offered to another soul. I’m not too sure how practical it is... but my mentor had used his last breath to deliver it.

I suppose that leaves an impression.

It’s odd that for all the people I’ve killed, I’ve only actually been physically present at the side of a handful of them when they’d died. And Odin Lowe’s death had been the first I’d witnessed... up close and personal, you could say.

So perhaps the advice isn’t so much wise as it is... etched into me.

I sigh and caress the smooth metal in my hands. It’s times like this – when I’m overwhelmed by the absolute emotional clusterfuck I’ve managed to create in my life – that I miss that lonely assassin who’d taken me in and taught me how to survive, how to kill, and – in short – how to grow up.

And while I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Odin hadn’t been infallible, I somehow persist in believing that he would be able to untangle these moments I get lost in and show me the path again.

I sigh and let my hands move as they will. Autopilot really is a soothing place to be after you’ve run so hard and so far that the only place you’d wound up had been a brick wall.

“Heero?”

My hands tighten at the sound of that familiar voice invading the heavy peace I’d finally found in the sanctuary of my bedroom.

“I know you’re here, man,” Duo continues and I can hear him closing the front door behind him. “I tried to call but your phone’s off the hook.”

I frown and glance at the appliance sitting on my nightstand. I don’t recall leaving the channel open, but I apparently had... because the vid phone lies muted and spitting static across the screen beside me. How had I not noticed this?

“Talk to me, man.”

I hear the steely note in Duo’s voice. I know that tone. It’s the one he uses when he’s decided not to give up until he’d gotten some answers. And if Duo Maxwell is consistent at anything, it’s being an obnoxiously stubborn cuss when he puts his mind to it.

With a heavy sigh, I admit, “I’m in the bedroom.”

I don’t hear his footsteps, but he pushes the door open only a half a second later. He must have started moving almost as soon as he’d heard me start to sigh. He stands in the doorway, regarding me with those ever-changing eyes of his. For the first time in my life, I find myself staring at a Duo Maxwell who is immovable and completely patient. The volatile energy he exudes is oddly absent and I wonder about that. I have no point of reference with which to refer in judging if this is a good sign or a bad one.

Very softly, he asks me, “Can I come in?”

I shrug. “Sure.” Despite my off-handed tone, Duo has my undivided attention as he approaches my bed and sits opposite me. He leans back against the footboard and I endure a long moment during which his gaze moves over me very deliberately. From my sock-clad toes to my chaotic hair.

“Do you really care about me that much?” he asks softly, suddenly.

The question surprises me and my hands convulse once in my lap. I don’t think to clear my throat before I try to speak and I hear myself grate out in an uneven voice, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

He nods once. But I know he’s not convinced. Nothing is that simple when it comes to Duo Maxwell.

“Why me, Heero?”

Why, indeed. I snort and shake my head. “You don’t ask easy questions, do you?” I counter, trying to stall him. I’m not sure _I_ even understand the reasoning behind my choice. And I’d rather not think about it right now, not with everything else I’m trying to deal with.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Nah. Life’s too short, ya know?”

Indeed, I do.

“So... why me, Heero?”

“I trust you,” I tell him. “Completely. Beyond that... the hell if I know.”

He laughs and it’s a sound I’ve never heard out of him before. It’s soft and breathy and somewhat... intimate. I feel gooseflesh race up my arms and I barely manage to squash the reflexive shiver in time.

“Is that why you joined the Preventers? Because I’d...?”

“Joined up?” I finish for him and answer succinctly, “Yes.”

He glances away and I glimpse a moment of confusion on his face even though I’m only given a view of his profile. “You shouldn’t have made a decision like that based on...”

“On what?” I challenge softly. “I know myself well enough to know what I need. The sacrifices I make in the process are irrelevant.”

Immediately, I have his undivided attention again. “Jesus Christ. Are you listening to yourself? You make it sound like you’d follow me through Hell and back!”

Having thought those very thoughts not an hour ago, and having determined them to be an accurate description of my present situation, I don’t deny it. I let my silence speak for me.

Duo shakes his head and I sense the building frustration in the gesture. “I don’t understand you. You don’t...”

“Don’t...?” I prompt, wondering what it is that’s holding Duo away from me.

He sighs sharply and explosively, searching for the words he wants. “Like me,” he finally finishes in an unhappy tone.

I blink at him. “What?” How had I managed to convince him of that?

He closes his eyes for a moment and I know that when he opens them, I’m not going to like the look in them.

And I’m right.

His dark eyes are flat and wary and suspicious when he unveils them again. “I’ve only ever been a means to an end... a convenient ally... a... tool.” The last word is barely a whisper and I feel it tear at me with shocking ferocity.

“When did I...? How...?”

He interrupts my unbalanced floundering and softly tells me, “During the war. During the Mariemaia deal... Not since we’ve been working together with the Preventers.”

Which begs the question: “If I haven’t been treating you... like that for two years then why do you keep this distance between us?”

He shrugs. “Habit, I guess. I’ve always thought of you in more competitive terms than, you know, like...”

“A friend?” I ask, my chest muscles tightening into a hard ache.

He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he admits.

God, that hurts. I force a swallow down my throat, but the pain and emotions aren’t banished with it. “So... you’re saying it’s all my fault that...” I have to pause and gather the scraps of my strength to voice the implied message. “... you don’t trust me?”

Duo quickly shakes his head. “No, Heero. I’m not saying that. I’m...” A rueful grin tugs at his lips and a dark gleam of humor enters his eyes. “I’m an asshole. And a _mistrustful_ asshole at that. Who carries grudges because it takes too much energy to sort out the truth.” He shrugs eloquently. “I’m an insensitive prick. There’s no getting around that.”

I laugh. “Yeah,” I agree when I can. “I know.”

He tilts his head to one side and regards me with a sharp stare. “Then why do you trust me so much?”

“Why don’t you trust me?” I reply, starting to get frustrated at his inability to comprehend. “Take all of your reasons and reverse them. You were another soldier but you treated me like a person. You helped me. You challenged me. You made me see myself as something other than someone else’s weapon. Why wouldn’t I trust you?”

Duo simply watches me, his eyes wide and surprised. And in the wake of that very personal revelation, I stand and march out of the room. I’m feeling split open by that admission. And I’m feeling furious that I’d managed to make Duo feel the exact opposite: sub-human, with instrumental value only, worthy of manipulation but not trust.

Had I really been such an unbelievable asshole?

“Heero, stop it.”

I look up as Duo perches on the arm of the matching loveseat in my living room. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been drawn back to my usual perch facing the window.

“Heero...” He sighs and a determined expression hardens his gaze. “I’m the agent I am today because you challenged me to be a better pilot. You helped me, too, if I remember correctly.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and I know he’s recalling that time I’d busted him out of Oz custody. “We’ve already established that I’m a grudge-loving bastard. Is it any wonder I’ve been clinging to the illusion that our relationship is one of competition? It is... _was_ much easier to deal with.”

“It was?” I echo, hating the blatant hope I hear in my voice.

“Yeah. It was shot to hell a long time ago, but today I finally bought a clue.”

I snort softly in amusement and tell him, “You know, for someone who can manipulate me like putty, you’re surprisingly dense sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it!” he agrees happily. “It took a lot of effort to train myself to be this oblivious to my own motives.”

I shake my head, wondering at that. Sometimes, I honestly don’t understand him.

And in the process of pulling back from the conversation, I notice something odd about my living room. I notice Duo’s laptop sitting on my couch.

I frown.

“What’s your PC doing here?” I can hazard a few guesses, but I hold back.

When he takes a deep breath, I know I’m not going to like the reason, whatever it is. “Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk about it...”

“Maybe you’re right,” I tell him. “But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He coughs out a surprised laugh. “Yes, sir.”

After a moment, Duo doesn’t elaborate so I glare at him. “Don’t make me ask you again, Maxwell...”

He sighs, all traces of humor evaporating. “Fine. What did you program that virus you unleashed on the Lunar Base to do?”

I blink at him, a little surprised by this topic. How can the virus I’d created be the cause of his reluctance to talk to me? Immediately, I reveal the primary objective: provide a back door for Duo to investigate the company’s database. And I systematically list the malfunctions I’d created to cover up the true intent.

Sprinklers.

Bidets.

Hallway ceilings.

Private residence microwaves.

Shoe-shining receptacle.

Water temperature reversal.

Clothing driers.

After I finish my list, which is rather impressive if I do say so myself, Duo nods in satisfaction. “That’s everything, right?”

My eyes narrow. “... yeah...”

He takes deep breath and looks into my eyes. “I picked through your memories the other night, Heero.”

“I know,” I reply quickly. At the sight of his eyebrows arcing in silent inquiry, I elucidate, “I figured it out when I woke up.”

He nods and tells me bluntly, “I didn’t find any evidence that you’d been brainwashed.”

I blink. I _must _have heard that wrong. “What?”

“There was no evidence, Heero. Nothing. Can you come up with anything that would explain how someone managed a completely undetectable brainwashing episode on a soldier who’s been trained to within an inch of his life to resist brainwashing attempts?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Duo continues softly. “I was stumped, too. Either we’re dealing with some seriously scary dudes, or...”

“Or there was no brainwashing at all,” I mutter. “But then how did I manage to believe I’d sent you that check-in message...?”

I feel a touch on my bicep and look down at Duo’s hand softly curled around my arm.

“Heero, Wufei took a look at your laptop. It’s true that you never sent the message. But...” Duo leans a little closer. “You blocked me from your email server, too.”

Again, all I can think of to say is: “What?”

“You didn’t want to hear from me.”

“But I didn’t...!”

“There’s more.”

Only two words. Who would have thought that only two words could make my hands tremble?

“The virus you wrote does more than just piss people off,” he tells me in a soft but firm voice. “You programmed a malfunction into the data storage room’s locking mechanism so it would take at least five tries to open. And...”

I would have prompted him to finish that sentence, but I can’t figure out how to make my throat work.

“And you programmed the solar panels to charge continuously. Starting immediately from a successful upload.”

No. I look away from that searching gaze and stare out the window.

“You wrote a virus that was designed to kill you, Heero.”

No. I transfer my gaze to my hands where they rest on my lap.

“And you didn’t send me that check-in because you knew I’d come after you and stop you.”

No. I watch my fingers curl into tight fists.

“Heero... what’s more likely? That some super evil bad guys managed to perform the perfect brainwash, or...”

No! Those fists begin to tremble.

“Or that your training and your subconscious don’t... agree anymore?”

“NO!” And with that, I surge to my feet. “That’s... that’s _bullshit!_” I’m seething with rage and terror. “Get out!” I yell. “Get the _fuck_ out, Maxwell!”

He ducks quickly as my wild gesture toward the door nearly connects with his head.

“Heero...”

“OUT!!” I storm toward the front door of my apartment, intent on only one thing: ejecting Duo Maxwell from my home and eliminating this horrifying possibility from my life. But then something crunches and shifts beneath my stockinged foot. Momentarily distracted by the discomfort of something hard and solid digging into one of my foot bones, I glance down and recognize the shattered remains of a pot... and the spray of sand... and...

_No!_

I swiftly glance up and behind me, my gaze zooming to the window sill. The only place I’ve kept Duo’s cactus since he’d given it to me.

And I see nothing but unblemished moulding.

“Oh, God...”

I turn back to the mess in the entryway on a desperate whisper. What had I done? What in the _hell_ had I done?

But the answer is easily discerned. I can see the impact point on the door where the plant had struck. The scatter of sand. The shards of clay. And there, leaning drunkenly against the floorboard, the mangled remains of the small plant I’d never gotten the chance to watch bloom.

“Oh, God... I didn’t...”

I don’t realize I’ve sunk to my knees until Duo wraps his arms around me and leans his cheek against my hair. His voice is so soft, so soothing in my ear: “You’re not alone, Heero. I’m here with you. Right here with you.”

“I couldn’t have...” I insist. “_Couldn’t_ have...”

He rubs his hands up and down my arms and I think the simple touches are the only things holding me together. “We’re going to get through this, Heero. I’m here for you, man. We’re partners, you know? Partners.”

“How could I have done this, Duo? I don’t _remember._” But when I examine my shaking hands, I notice several scratches on my right hand. Fresh scratches. Spaced at the correct intervals to have originated from angrily grasping and hurtling a small cactus across the room.

I’ve seen and done a plethora of hideous things in my life. I’ve felt fear and terror and horror. I’ve been paralyzed by it. I’ve ridden the adrenalin like my life depended on it, and many times it had. But I have never been afraid of myself.

It is a fear unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The mere possibility that I’d orchestrated my own death then subconsciously sent a silent call for help... I can’t even consider it without breaking into a cold sweat.

“Come on, Heero. You’re shivering.”

I allow Duo to guide me over to the couch and wrap me in his own jacket. And himself. He envelops me with his strong arms and just holds me. I lean into his warmth and surrender. It shouldn’t have been this easy to give in... and I try to ignore this one more bit of evidence that points to the impossibility Duo had suggested: the possibility that I might be breaking.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

Once again, I find myself in Preventer HQ, but I don’t go in search of Wufei or Une. In fact, I have no intention whatsoever of separating my ass from this chair. At least not until Heero reemerges from the shrink’s office. And in all honesty, I ought to be having my own head examined.

Jesus, but yesterday afternoon I’d had the piss scared out of me. I’d sped outrageously all the way to Heero’s apartment, listening to sound of his phone incessantly _not_ ringing. No voice mail. No caller waiting announcement. Just... nothing.

I’d raced up the stairs, picked the lock, and coaxed the security system into silence only to notice the explosion on the floor. A thousand horrible scenarios had overwhelmed me, the worst of which being: _I’m too late._

My relief at getting him to answer me had been short-lived. I’d all but stampeded to his bedroom but I’d frozen on the threshold.

And for what had felt like the longest moment of my life, I’d just stared at the gun in his hands. The _loaded_ gun, I’d realized with a glimpse at the clip peeking out from beneath the handgrip. The loaded and _unlocked_ gun when I’d gotten close enough to sweep my gaze over him and take note of the disengaged safety.

Fuck. I’ve never been as scared in my whole life as I was sitting there, talking to Heero, trying to reestablish his trust in me while aware of him rolling that gun between his hands. I might not know exactly what I feel for the guy, but I’d been terrified he was going to do something messy and permanent to himself.

At least he’d left it behind on the bed when he’d marched out into the living room radiating guilt and pain. An unstable Heero with a gun is not someone I can break bad news to. And I’d regretted having to spell out mine and Wufei’s suspicions. God, that had hurt me almost as much as it had hurt him. And I’d almost fucked it up completely; he’d almost kicked me out.

But in the end, he’d let me hold him until he fell asleep. Then he let me herd him into a long, hot shower after he’d woken up. He’d let me feed him and he’d let me drive him to HQ so he could make an emergency appointment with Une’s noggin expert.

At least I’d gotten a few things done while he’d been in the shower. I’d unloaded and restowed the gun; I hadn’t wanted to even consider what Heero would think if he’d found _that_ lying around and correctly deduced that he’d been absentmindedly fidgeting with it for who knows how long.

I’d cleaned up the mess in the entryway. I’d hung up his phone... _finally._ But turned the ringer off. Which he _should_ have done yesterday if he _only_ hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. Leaving the vid phone off the hook like that had been a screaming cry for attention.

Which, unfortunately, only supports the current working theory.

God, even though I’d been the one to suggest it to him, I still can’t believe that he’s really breaking. Heero’s too strong, too stubborn, too–

“Ah, Agent Maxwell. What a pleasant surprise.”

I almost curse out loud. But considering who’s approaching my chair at a good clip that would be a very _un_cool idea. But I can think it. And I do: Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“’Morning, Commander Une. How are you doing today?”

“I’m quite pleased to see you sitting outside of Dr. Banes’s office, agent.”

I try not to grimace. There’s no way I can dissuade her of the belief that Heero’s having a session right now. It goes against every one of my instincts – and Heero’s, too – to let a total stranger into this already volatile equation, but Heero had insisted and I hadn’t been able to give him any better options.

“Take a walk with me, agent,” I hear Une invite/order.

I refocus my attention on her and reply with a sheepish expression I think _must_ look as fake as it feels, “I, uh, should really stay here, ma’am.” I aim an apologetic but pointed glance at my watch.

“This won’t take long,” she tells me and I know I’m committed. Damn it.

“Um... okay, I guess I’ve got a minute...” I can’t resist muttering.

She doesn’t reply. She simply turns on one of her three and three-quarter inch, overpriced Italian heels and leads me down a maze of corridors to her office. I’m a little surprised to see Wufei in there with several stacks of files and reports surrounding him. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m seeing, and Une confirms it in the next moment.

As soon as the door closes behind me, she says, “I asked Agent Chang to brief me on what he’s discovered with regards to the lunar pharmaceuticals case, but first I’d like to discuss Agent Yuy’s condition.” She turns toward me and pins me with her gaze. “Agent Maxwell, how is he?”

Okay... I know I’ve got this “no lying” policy thing but...

The very thought of telling Une the unvarnished truth about Heero’s current, alarming vulnerability has my survival instincts throwing a temper tantrum your average three-year-old would be proud of.

I tell her, “Well, he’s a little concerned about the brainwashing possibility, ma’am. He’s taking the situation very seriously and you already know he’s working to resolve the security problem it presents. I’ve been staying with him, like you asked. He confides in me. Trusts me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Wufei fighting back a frown. Luckily, I’ve got Une’s undivided attention.

“Have you seen any indication that he’s unbalanced or unsure of himself?”

I shake my head. “No, ma’am. He’s unsettled, but aside from being royally peeved about having his memories tinkered with, he seems perfectly normal. And, honestly, Heero being peeved about something isn’t a real stretch of the imagination, ya know?”

She nods and smiles at me. “Excellent.” And turning to Wufei, she asks, “I take it you haven’t been able to uncover any new evidence against Dr. Adamsson and his associates?”

“No, ma’am. But–-”

Une cuts him off with a victorious announcement. “Well, we’re going to get a second chance. Dr. Adamsson has _personally_ requested the services of a Mr. Rupert Takahashi, whose work he was greatly impressed with. Apparently, some of their equipment calibrations were... altered in the process of dealing with that unfortunate computer virus. Since Heero doesn’t seem to be too affected... and since I can guess how much he’d like another opportunity to get some solid evidence against the men who tampered with his memories, I don’t see any harm in sending him out again.”

Oh. Fuck.

I _really_ shouldn’t have lied. This is what happens when you lie, boys and girls: really, _really, _super-bad shit.

But before I can panic, Wufei jumps all over her declaration. “Ma’am! I must object to sending Yuy on assignment-–”

“Alone!” I quickly insert, cutting off Wufei. “I mean, sure, he’s pretty much recovered from his burns, but sending him out there on another solo mission would just be _asking_ for trouble. And besides, what if these scientists are just trying to get Heero back in their territory for a second go at him? With all due respect, ma’am, I think you should send Mr. Takahashi’s trainee – me – out there with him for ‘practical experience’ in electronics repair and maintenance.”

Une leans back and grins at me. “Great minds think alike, I see, Agent Maxwell. I was about to suggest a similar situation. I’ll revoke your suspension – temporarily, of course – for the purpose of the mission.” Une then turns to Wufei and directs, “Leave your reports with me and I’ll look them over this afternoon. I want you to brief Agent Maxwell on the case, Agent Chang.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

“Here, let me help you with some of those,” I offer, standing. I skim over the stacks and find a file with Heero’s Preventer number on the tab buried in the middle. I scoop up that stack and give Wufei a long, hard Look. “Which of these are staying, man?”

He tosses a brief but dangerous glare in my direction. “The top one stays,” he tells me, sorting through his own stack. I don’t have to be told that I’m going to catch hell for this once Wufei gets me alone. But I’ll deal with it when I have to deal with it.

“Thank you for your time, agents. Agent Maxwell, please send Agent Yuy in to see when he concludes his appointment.”

“Sure thing,” I tell her and head for the door. I can sense Wufei hot on my heels. He’s practically seething. This is gonna be painful.

I hide a wince and stride toward Wufei’s office with Heero’s file clutched in a grip nothing short of death by vaporization could loosen.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

What an absolute waste of time.

I have to swallow back my snort of disgust and forcibly stop the disappointed shake of my head. There’s absolutely no way in – or _out_ of, for that matter – hell that I’ll be able to trust that overconfident, smarmy administrator wannabe with my subconscious.

Somehow, I refrain from slamming the door behind me and turn to where I’d left Duo before going in for my “let’s-get-to-know-each-other” appointment. Only... Duo isn’t there.

Feeling vaguely unsettled – after all, he’d told me that nothing short of free Godiva chocolate was going to budge his ass from that chair – I frown at the empty waiting room. But after a moment of unproductive glowering, I decide to try Wufei’s office. Perhaps something has come up. Perhaps new evidence that I’m really not losing my mind and becoming a danger to society. Perhaps further proof that I’m a buster rocket short my launch package.

I wander down the mostly-empty halls. Almost everyone has gone home for the day and I’m relieved. I meander toward Wufei’s office and wonder what I should tell Duo. It’s obvious to me that Une’s expert isn’t going to be an option for me. So... now what? Should I ask Duo to take some sort of crash course in soldier psychology? Should I resign? Lock myself in small, padded room? Or something even more radical... like retraining?

I can’t stop the shudder I experience at the very thought. But I force myself to look at the end result, not the means. If it means I’ll manage to avoid becoming an unpredictable threat to others _and_ be able to accompany Duo on missions, then _any_ price is worth it. Even retraining.

My steps slow as I see Wufei’s door up ahead. I’ve always envied Wufei’s office. It’s got a window with a very nice view. He tries to lord that over us on occasion, but Duo usually manages to shut him up with a well-placed comment about the origins of Jell-O.

Although, as I get close to Wufei’s lair, I notice one other thing I hadn’t really considered to be an issue before. Even though his office does have a nice view, it _isn’t_ sound-proof. At all.

“... idiot! I can’t believe you _lied_ about that!”

“What should I have told her, man? There’s absolutely _no_ way I’m gonna give her that kind of power over Heero. She’d have him locked up faster than you can glare one of the newbies into pissing himself!”

“Quit being such a melodramatic flunky, Maxwell. She’d do no such thing. She would find him the _proper_ care he requires!”

“Gee, Wuffers, how’s the weather there in your little fantasy world? Enjoying your stay?”

“You want to talk about fantasy worlds? What’s this crap about you going on a mission with Heero! It’s bad enough Une wants to send him back to the moon, but with you volunteering...!”

“Drop it Wufei. If Heero goes, I’m going.”

“The hell you will. He’ll get you killed!”

“Shut. Up. Wufei.” A terrible silence follows those three, heavily weighted but softly spoken words. “Never, and I mean _never_, imply that Heero would do anything to endanger me.” No threats are spoken, but when Duo uses that tone of voice, none are needed.

Stunned, I stand outside Wufei’s office in the deserted corridor and just... absorb their words. Une wants me to go back to the moon. Duo had lied about my mental stability. Wufei’s about ready to eviscerate someone.

Sounds like the perfect moment to walk in there and get the whole story, doesn’t it?

With a heavy sigh, I open Wufei’s door and announce myself.

“Wufei’s right, Duo.” I step into the office and shut the door behind me. I take in Wufei’s startled expression and fading flush of anger before I turn to Duo, catching the tail end of a frigid stare. I continue softly, “I’ll only get you or both of us killed. Une’s going to have to assign another agent for this.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at the both of them. “And this office is far from sound-proof so you might want to consider lowering your voices a few decibels if you insist on continuing this conversation.”

If I had bothered to entertain the faintest hope that my words would have ended the discussion, I would have been very disappointed.

Suddenly all-business, Duo turns his complete attention on me and replies in a softer but no less certain tone, “First of all, I find it highly insulting that you think I can’t take care of myself on a mission or that I would be negligent enough not to notice a threatening situation until it’s too late. I don’t need your protection, Heero. And that’s a fact.”

I feel like I’ve just been slapped. I hadn’t meant for my statement to sound like that but... when I try to reword my intent, I realize I really _am_ trying to protect Duo. A fellow Preventer agent. An adult. Former soldier, pilot, and terrorist. I know I have no right to treat him like a child.

An apology hovers on the tip of my tongue, but Duo isn’t finished yet.

“Second, Adamsson asked for you specifically. You’re already familiar with the equipment _and_ the database _and _the people. And I guarantee changing operatives would set this mission back _another_ month or _more_. Maybe there isn’t brainwashing going on up there, but who’s to say those docs aren’t endangering the employees in some other way?

“And third...” Duo glances in Wufei’s direction, daring him to argue with his reasoning. “What kind of reason could we justifiably give Une for your refusal without her coming to her own conclusions about your mental health? She already believes she’s doing you a favor by allowing you to go back out there and bust the asses who’d fucked with your memory. You gonna be able to explain to her why you’re not really interested in following through with that? Think about it: the woman governs the most powerful paramilitary organization in the entire _Earth Sphere_. Do you really want her to question your motives _now_?”

My throat feels suddenly dry at that. Wufei might trust Une completely, but Duo and I are on the same page here. There’s no way I’ll give anyone with that kind of power knowledge of my vulnerabilities. It goes against everything I know about life, survival, and the dubious fairness of both.

“Finally,” Duo finishes in a quiet, confident tone. “You _can_ do this. I’ll be with you and, when you get back, resign if you want. I’ll even help you come up with an excuse if you feel you need one. But if we drop the ball now, Une’s gonna know something’s wrong and we absolutely _cannot_ afford to let that happen.”

I glance at Wufei and I’m surprised to see his resigned frustration being broadcast load and clear. Determined to circumvent this, I return my gaze to Duo and carefully remind him, “But we don’t know what I’m capable of, what the triggers are or if it’s totally random. Duo... I’m dangerous.”

For a moment I actually think I might have raised a viable point of non-negotiation. But then a slow, toothy grin stretches his lips apart. “Yes, I _know _you’re dangerous... But so am I. Don’t underestimate _me._”

And I do that far too often already. I certainly don’t need to make more of a habit of it than I already do. “I don’t like this,” I tell him firmly.

He shrugs. “Nobody does, but this is the situation nonetheless. So,” he continues, a hard edge in his voice. “You’ll go talk to Une. You’ll tell her you’re fine but act pissy because this whole brainwashing thing is a major fart in your bubble bath. I’ll stay here and get the case notes from Wufei then we’ll talk logistics tonight at your place.”

I want to argue.

Wait, let me rephrase that. I want to argue and _win._ But I know that’s not going to happen. If we drop the ball now, powerful people will suspect that something serious is wrong with me. For an instant, I wonder how that would be so bad. Une would have the power to ensure that I wouldn’t become a danger to anyone...

But then I catch Duo’s gaze and I can see the fierce determination there. He’s not going to let me cop out on this.

I honestly don’t know if I have it in me to make it through one more mission, dangerous or not, but I know Duo will never forgive me if I give up now.

I just hope Wufei’s fears don’t come true.

I have enough nightmares already without adding Duo’s death to them.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

I don’t have to look up from the outdated techie article I’m not reading to know the exact moment Heero resigns himself completely to this mission.

Personally, I’m rather impressed that he’d held onto his misgivings as long as he hand. And, while it’s unlikely that he’s flushed those reservations down the proverbial crapper, at least he’s going to offer more than grudging cooperation. And about damn time, too.

I’d been running out of patience.

In the long, breathless moment following our successful clearance of the Earth’s atmosphere, the already-humming air between us shifts as Heero leans his head back against his seat, sighs out a lungful of air, and commences with staring blankly out the shuttle window.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what surrender looks like... Yuy style.

I reflect on the swiftness with which he’d swapped tension for disappointment and smile down at the glossy photo of an overpriced – and now completely obsolete – external memory cache device for the busy businessman’s traveling workstation.

“There’s nothing remotely funny about this situation,” my seatmate informs me in a flat voice.

I _know_ with absolute certainty that he hadn’t glanced away from those deceptively stationary points of light out there. It appears he’s just as psychic as I am today.

“Maybe not,” I agree lightly. “But you know me. I never pass up an opportunity to amuse myself.”

I can easily picture the agreeing lift of Heero’s brows. “Then, by all means, do share.”

I flip to the next shiny page and oblige him. In a tone that would have been more appropriate for making a comment on the weather we’d left behind on Earth, I muse, “Never thought you’d be disappointed that our shuttle hadn’t been engulfed in a blazing inferno. That’s all.”

I hope Heero doesn’t ask me how I’d managed to connect that forlorn sigh to a lack of spontaneous combustion because, quite frankly, I’m not sure how I’d made that jump, myself. But it seems to fit. Which is why it’s so amusing.

He snorts. “No death threats, either.” He manufactures another expressive sigh and in that monotone of his, he plays along, “Nobody ever visits... Nobody writes...”

I swallow back my laughter and I try to tell myself I’m just being considerate to my fellow passengers but, honestly, I don’t want to encourage the attention of Fate with the sound of my amusement. There’s just something about zipping around in a glorified tin can in infinite fucking _vacuum_ that is practically asking for a cosmic smack-down if you know what I mean.

Call me paranoid.

Irrational.

Psychotic.

I won’t dispute any of them. They’re all true, more or less.

I tell Heero in a tone I’ve wrestled into boredom, “I could arrange for someone to stalk you if that’d make you feel more comfortable.”

“What a pal.”

I grin at my magazine. I can tell from the acoustics of his reply that Heero still hasn’t looked away from that stupid window. “Here for ya, man. Through lumpy gravy and runny eggs.”

I can almost hear his wince. “Great,” he grunts in response to my choice of imagery. “Just in time for the in-flight meal.”

“You barf, I’ll bag.”

I hear the hidden bark of amusement in the obvious hitch in his breathing but – like me – he keeps a white-knuckled grip on his laughter. I wonder if I’m not the only one who always feels like an amoeba under God’s microscope when I fly commercial shuttles through outer space.

Beside me, Heero shakes his head and whispers softly, “How did I let you talk me into this?”

I arc a brow and consider opening my mouth to reply, but I sense he hadn’t actually intended to ask that question aloud. I let him think he hadn’t voiced that thought and continue staring down at the pretty pictures winking up at me from the pages of the months-old magazine. I probably should have picked up a current issue from the spaceport duty-free shop but whatever. I’d been a little preoccupied. And, honestly, I hadn’t wanted to get too engrossed in anything during the flight. After all, I’ve got some serious scheming to contemplate.

What I’d told Heero about the risks he’d be taking if he refused the mission had been true.

Well, _mostly._

I might have exaggerated. 

Played to his ingrained paranoia.

All right, all right. Blatantly _manipulated_ him.

But it’s all for a good cause.

No, really. It is.

Here’s the deal: while I’m willing to accept the hypothesis that Heero’s training and psyche are having a nice little tiff at the moment, I’m finding it difficult to accept that his mission to the former Lunar Base had nothing to do with it. 

Before Heero had left on this mission, he’d been fine. The most solid, dependable agent on the payroll at HQ. I know. I’ve butted heads with him often enough over mission logistics. You could say I enjoy a bit of slack in my plans to allow for spontaneity and opportunism. Heero, on the other hand... Damn, but I think he’d be tempted to schedule our bathroom breaks if he’d thought for one second that I’d let him get away with it.

But now...

Total. One. Eighty.

So, slap a sticker on my ass that reads “Paranoid Conspiracy Freak” in nuclear fuchsia but I’m still gonna go through with this mission. Both Une’s official assignment _and_ my own clandestine investigation into this phantom catalyst.

And let’s be honest. Before I can really help Heero make an informed decision about what to do next regarding his, er... internal clash of issues, I’m going to need all the information I can get. Including _why_ this had manifested itself now.

Yeah, that’s what I tell myself...

... and I ignore the very satisfying fantasy of finding that stereotypical evil bad dude who hurt my friend and putting my fist through his heavy coke-bottle lenses and sweaty face.

Yeah. No hidden priorities here. I’m an open book, doncha know?

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Have I mentioned that this is an amazingly _bad _idea? I’m pretty sure I had at some point... at _several _points, come to think of it... but, somehow, here we are anyway.

I cross the threshold into the impressive main lobby of the pharmaceutical company and take a deep, fortifying breath. I ignore Duo’s presence just half a step behind me and to my left. I grudgingly have to admit he’s playing his role of The Trainee really well so far. He’s fairly vibrating with anticipatory energy, as if he’s not only experiencing his first visit to the moon but he’d just had his first shuttle ride, as well. It’s those kinds of details that I always forget and that, subsequently, ruin my disguise. Although, in this case, I get the impression that Duo’s purposefully drawing attention to himself... and away from me. As a fully trained and highly dangerous Preventer agent capable of taking care of myself in virtually any combat situation, I ought to be offended.

I’m not.

I pretend to ignore the fact the Duo is quite obviously-but-not-actually giving his undivided attention to the impressive arrangement of spacescape paintings I’d admired on my initial arrival and approach the receptionist. Yet again I announce my arrival and try to look like I’m not a trained assassin.

But once Duo has decided – by some mysterious inner logic – that he’s gawked at his surroundings long enough, he works his magic and manages to elicit a conversation out of the receptionist. All I have to do is feign interest in the mundane chatter. So I do.

Until: “Rupert! It’s so good to see you again!”

Turning, I nod at the familiar face of Dr. Adamsson’s assistant. The man who’d trailed along behind me like a lost puppy during ninety per cent of my first visit here. He concludes his approach with a hearty handshake.

“Your company said you’d had a fairly serious family emergency or something...?” he comments with a concerned frown. “Is everything all right?”

I nod easily. “Yes, everything’s fine now. I apologize for the inconvenience I know I must have caused...”

“Oh, never mind that. Your company did send us a replacement, but he wasn’t you, Rupert. The machines are on the verge of rioting.”

I chuckle. “Hm,” I tell him in a light tone, “if you’re not careful, I’ll get the impression that I was missed.”

The assistant laughs. “Well, it wouldn’t be inaccurate.”

Sensing an opening in the conversation, Duo shifts beside me and I immediately move to introduce him. With a gesture towards my partner, I intone, “My assistant and current electronics engineer trainee, Felix MacGyver.”

I watch as Duo leans forward, offering his hand to Adamsson’s assistant and it seems to me there’s something more than the garden variety, unpredictable Maxwell amusement in his eyes. It’s glaringly evident to me that he’s finding something about this situation to be flat-out hilarious. And I think... maybe... it might be his choice of name. I make a mental note to quiz him later on what’s so damn amusing about the name Felix MacGyver. It’ll make a nice distraction from my own inescapable difficulties.

“MacGyver, huh?” the assistant muses with a wide grin. “I don’t suppose your family is aware of a little-known late twentieth-century television program about a man by the same name?”

Duo returns the grin and turns it up another notch toward Blinding Radiance. “Got the entire series on vid disc at home. Mandatory education in my family.”

“Seems like a lot to live up to,” the assistant replies as he _finally_ starts to steer us out of the lobby. “At least MacGyver had a team of script writers and special effects experts to get him out of all those close calls...”

Duo shrugs. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” And then he chuckles. “You’d be surprised how many of us went into law enforcement and the like.”

I try not to tense at the fine line Duo is approaching. Ahead of me, Dr. Adamsson’s assistant laughs.

“So, you must be the black sheep of the family, right?”

“Maybe,” Duo drawls with a sly glance in the scientist’s direction. “In any case, nobody ever suspects the techie geek guy, right?”

This is why Duo is the master of infiltration. How he can say shit like this and not totally tip off the suspect completely baffles me. Hell, I _know_ I don’t have the nerve to cooperate in, let alone instigate, a conversation like this with an individual I’m investigating undercover, but Duo does it effortlessly.

Oblivious to my partner’s subtly guided influence, the assistant becomes even more talkative than I recall. Which, quite honestly, is really saying something. If I’d thought the man was indiscriminately friendly before, he’s a veritable social whore in Duo’s presence.

But while I’m awed by this, I’m not exactly surprised. After all, I’ve always known about Duo’s unparalleled brilliance in being able to coax out the traits the wants from the people he interacts with.

Take me, for example. How many years had I wasted letting him goad me into nit-picking and pissing contests, half-hearted though my participation may have been.

Still, there’s no debating the fact that Duo Maxwell is completely unique.

Irreplaceable.

And he’s placing all of his trust in me.

Jesus, I hope I’m not going to fuck up this mission. And, listening to the echo of that thought, I almost snort out loud. Two months ago, I’d regarded this mission with necessary caution, yes, but not with abject terror. Two moths ago, it had been obvious that having the two of us on this mission would have been overkill. Two months ago, I’d willingly undertaken every aspect of the on-site investigation personally.

It’s amazing what a little unpredictable and violent mental instability can do to a person’s ego, isn’t it?

Still, now isn’t the time to brood about it. I’d managed to put a lid on those fears during the long shuttle ride and now is not the time to let them out, even for good behavior. Now is the time for me to focus on this elementary assignment. Now is the time to trust Duo to know what he’s doing... even though I kind of suspect he’s hoping to use this mission to show me I’m not the personification of uranium at critical mass.

Well, he’s got his work cut out for him. Because no one but me can say exactly what I’m capable of. And it’s not as if anyone’s ever been guilty of _removing_ my memories, so I should know. Still...

Still, I silently pray, _Please, please don’t try to save me from myself if I do something stupid, Duo._

But I know he will.

And it’s times like these I wonder why in the hell I couldn’t have sworn my fanatical devotion to someone with a modicum of common sense and an inkling of self-preservation.

Yeah... and we all know how well-known I am for doing things the easy way.

_. . ._

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

Okay, why in the hell hadn’t this particular detail been included in the mission briefing?

It pains me, but I manage to swallow back a glare of lethal proportions. At least until I can gift its intended recipient with it.

Yes, I’d like to lodge a formal complaint concerning the purposeful withholding of vital information by a fellow Preventer agent. But, seeing as how I can’t get my hands on those ever-popular and Internal Affairs-provided Your Ass Is Grass forms, I’ll just have to make do with mental rants and elaborate torture scenarios.

I offer a sage nod in response to some indecipherable – and likely completely asinine – comment Dr. Adamsson’s assistant generates. He doesn’t seem to notice that 1) I’m not doing any of the work his company is supposedly paying me for, and 2) I haven’t contributed to the conversation during the last twenty-three minutes. It’s really quite remarkable that the man can go this long without either repeating himself or suffering from oxygen deprivation. This clearly defies the known and accepted facts of human biology and psychology.

Hence, Heero should have bloody mentioned it.

And I can’t even use my own personally tailored military hand signals to bitch him out about it in real time.

I carefully do _not_ glare at what I can see of him as I hover nearby, awaiting an obscure grunt which I will have to correctly translate into a request for some tool or supply which I _supposedly_ have in my possession. Note to self: do not, under _any _circumstances, offer to help Heero with home improvement projects.

As I attempt to keep my eyes from glazing over from overexposure to chem-geek jargon, I reflect on how damn lucky Heero is to be wound tighter than your average Swiss watch because, otherwise, I’m pretty sure he would have fallen asleep from sheer boredom by now. It’s a mystery to me how I’m managing to keep myself from spasmodically twitching in a vain attempt to circumvent mental atrophy.

Damn, but these dweeby science guys can _talk!_

“That’s a rather interesting point,” I interject with lightning-quick reflexes when I sense the presence of semi-closing punctuation in his rambling address. Deciding to check to make sure Heero really is still conscious where he’s hidden in the cozy utility access cubby – and indulge in just a bit of petty revenge – I continue, “Have you talked to Rupe about your theory? He’s really into maximizing calcium ion channel flow in African anteaters.”

I think it’s quite obvious that I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about. In fact, I’m not even sure there actually _are _African anteaters. Let alone if their neurons communicate with calcium ion channels.

I’m a machine kinda guy. I only know enough about the inner workings of the human body to point out, in the event that I have the opportunity, to Wufei that he’s about to eat something that will only make bowel movement more strenuous in two days’ time. Oh, and I can do a passable job of patching myself up in the middle of Armageddon while up to my armpits in blood and mud. But I doubt the next Nobel Prize laureate here would appreciate the lecture I could deliver on the topic. To say nothing of me having to explain why a childhood supplemented with MacGyver re-runs could equip me with such technical knowledge...

So, I entertain myself with wondering if Heero’s going to counter my ruthless attempt to redirect the focus of our local pharmacist to him. Mr. I Have No Life doesn’t have enough time to do more than raise his brows and look in the direction of where Heero’s torso probably is, before a droll comment rolls out of the hole in the wall.

“It’s melanin production levels in South American fruit bats that I’m studying up on lately.” I have an instant in which to admire Heero’s swift reply and wonder where in the hell _that _little fiction had come from before a martyred sigh echoes out into the small laboratory. Heero affects in a bored drawl, “Would it _kill_ you to actually pay attention to a conversation for once, MacGyver?”

I’m trying to decide between which subtle verbal smacking I want to go with but the assistant jumps – figuratively – between us in a scarily perky attempt to moderate our exchange.

“That’s not fair, Rupert. I can’t really blame anyone for not being particularly interested in my area of research. It’s not exactly mainstream.”

Or even remotely interesting.

“So why don’t you tell me about you, Felix?”

I shrug. “What’s to tell?” I begin and start weaving a yarn about my fictional adolescence and the following – equally fictional – college years. Of course I paint myself as an underappreciated genius amongst dullards. Nedly the Nerd seems to relate to those bits, especially. I’m somewhat content discussing various adventures in electrical engineering projects I’d supposedly undertaken while still in that mythical university I’d never attended, when quite suddenly, the conversation takes an odd turn.

“So, I suppose, if you could have anything it would be recognition for your innovations?”

I open my mouth to shoot off a reply but I feel myself stumbling over a tangle of words that seem to be a very in-character ready agreement and an alien assertion that has something to do with my partner. “Erm...” I hear myself fumbling. But it appears this is confirmation enough for Nedly.

“Well, what’s stopping you, Felix?”

If I’d had the luxury, I would have allowed my eyebrows to arc at that. This guy certainly doesn’t believe in doing things halfway, does he? Either he’s boring me to tears or he’s firmly pushing against the boundaries of what constitutes polite conversation. Still, it’s not like he’s the first guy I’ve ever met to be so under-socialized in his little lab-world that he’s lost all concept of tact. Just look at wartime Heero. Yowza.

“Uh... well the normal stuff, I guess,” I mutter and commence with a nice bit of hemming and hawing about the unfairness of life and know-it-all managers and obnoxious patent laws.

I’m still nattering on about how great my life would have been if I’d been the one to invent Post-It Notes, when Heero squirms out from the utility access compartment and announces the completion of his project with the following truism:

“Stop boring the clients, MacGyver. Come on. Let’s shut you up – I mean, feed you.”

The assistant looks positively scandalized by that deliberate abuse, but I laugh. And in that moment, I really see what I’ve gained in Heero: more than a working relationship, more than camaraderie, maybe even more than friendship. And I’m suddenly nostalgic over all of the good laughs we might have had if I hadn’t spent the last two years being such a bastard. And I’m wondering if we’re going to be able to enjoy this new dynamic between us in the future. I’m wondering if Heero’s going to give us that time before he does something stupid like checking himself into one of those funny farms for maladjusted veterans. But I don’t have to wonder what he’ll do if I don’t use this chance to show him he’s not some sort of ticking time bomb. I _know_ this is the first, last, and only chance I’m going to get to present my case.

And I know I shouldn’t be throwing all my chips onto the table for this one, big crap shoot. But, God damn it, _something_ has got to pan out. After all, nobody has this much shitty luck indefinitely. At least, not if _I_ have anything to say about it.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

When Duo’s not complaining about something I’ve done, am planning to do, or am in all probability considering doing, his snarky griping is actually damn amusing. Either I’d completely forgotten this little personality quirk of his or it’s been a hell of a long time since someone who isn’t me has managed to light the fire of Peevedom under his ass. It doesn’t take much deliberation for me to reconcile myself to the latter... but I wonder if I ought to feel jealous at having been usurped so suddenly. Hell, I almost don’t know what to do with myself now that Duo has chosen another recipient for his passionate and derogatory pontification.

Still, for all the novelty of this new target, he makes it quite clear that I’m not completely blameless for his somewhat less-than-amiable mood.

“Geez, Rupe. Why the hell didn’t you mention this guy before?”

I know Duo’s pretty wound up, but I’m almost one hundred per cent sure that it’s mostly for show. I know I could growl at him or glare or, hell, even kick him under the table, but I don’t. I trust him to maintain our cover in his own unique ways. Even if those methods are a raving mystery to me.

I shrug and stab at the congealing remains of today’s re-heated dinner special. My enthusiasm for food is not particularly vigorous at the best of times. In fact, it rarely goes beyond a grudging appreciation for it as something with instrumental value only insofar as it can supply me with necessary nutrients in an efficient manner. Antonia’s is the one exception, it seems. But staring at the lukewarm lump of calories on my indestructible resin tray is causing some serious setbacks to that tiny bit of progress, I think.

I reply, “He wouldn’t be that bad if you’d stop encouraging him.”

“Encourage him!” Duo fairly explodes. “I was _this _close–” At this point Duo provides a very helpful gesture to illustrate his meaning. “–to passing out from total sensory deprivation in the middle of his little infomercial!”

“You weren’t the only one,” I grumble. But then a corner of my mouth quirks up as something else occurs to me. 

I tell him, “You know, as your supervisor, I really ought to report your nearly falling asleep on the job to home base.” I give him a long look of warning in an attempt to remind him of the fact that he really _shouldn’t _be admitting these sorts of details to me. And yes, it’s all for show... but sometimes it’s fun to indulge in the details.

“Oh, for the love of microprocessors!” He huffs and throws me a glare I can see straight through. “Rupe, just listen to yourself. First you tell me not to bore the clients but here you are practically admitting to passing out right along with me!”

“I admit to nothing,” I inform him stoically. “But, _if_ I were to say something like that, it would be perfectly acceptable because, unlike you, _I’m_ not undergoing probationary work experience.”

He disregards this with a snort I’ve developed an odd fondness for over the years. “Whatever, man. Still... at least you didn’t have him on your case about your most cherished pipe dream...”

Duo’s derisive reference to Adamsson’s assistant and his completely left-field inquisition into one Felix MacGyver’s life’s ambitions shifts something in my memory. It kind of feels like an old, moldering rug has just been jostled in its grimy and dust-coated room to reveal a gleaming wood floor beneath.

“Actually,” I reply slowly, trying to discern exactly what it is I’m almost remembering. “he _did_ ask me something similar.”

“Hm...” Duo muses, those dark eyes of his recording everything that may or may not be showing in my expression. “Let’s hope it’s not part of some obscure geek mating ritual...”

A strange sound that’s not a laugh but not a strangled cough grinds in my throat. “But, if that were the case, you would have immediately recognized it, MacGeek.”

“Oh, you are _sooo_ funny! Did you think that up all by yourself?”

“Why would I bother?” I toss back. “Especially when I can use the character references you supplied to get all the details I need to keep you in line.”

Duo gifts me with a look that travels the length of his nose before diving right for my ego. “You are such a jerk, Takahashi.”

I hum noncommittally. “Keeps your vocabulary of derogative terms well-exercised, though.”

He shakes his head on an amused sigh. “I still can’t picture you putting up with that kind of... interrogation,” he muses.

Ah, we’re back to talking about the assistant again. I summon up a cocky grin and counter, “Who says I did?” And with that, I collect my tray/garbage scow and stand.

“Oi! Where do you think _you’re_ going?” His demand is punctuated by the scrape of chair legs against the metal floor.

Although I don’t glance in his direction, I arc a brow. “I’ve decided I’m done staring at today’s... _special_ and it’s time to get some sleep.” I aim a pointed glance at the main clock, with the help of which I determine that I’ve been awake for over twenty-one hours.

“Woah... _sleep_?” Duo stutters with wide-eyed innocence. “What’s that?”

I hold back my snort long enough to reply, “The only other thing aside from food that manages to shut you up for any appreciable length of time, I believe.”

“Oh... _that._”

I release the snort I’d been saving and happily deposit my tray in the waste disposal unit. Abandoning the lingering syllables of our conversation to fend for themselves as they echo in the empty, cavernous employee cafeteria I pivot on my heel and make a beeline for the door. Behind me, I can hear Duo dumping his tray into the slot with a satisfying crash.

“Tell me something, man. Why do they call it the day’s special if it looks just like every other ‘special’ they offer?”

“It’s special in its inconspicuousness.”

“Dude... is that, like, even a _word_? Inconspicuousness?”

“Does it matter? You understood my intention, didn’t you?”

“Unfortunately...” he mumbles and jogs the last step to come up even with me as we meander down the unremarkable halls.

I listen as Duo rambles on about one day’s special in particular that had turned into quite the gastrointestinal adventure. I’m aware that he’s performing that singular feat of distraction that comes so easily to him. And I’m so damn tired that I don’t really care that we’re in the semi-public hallway of a potential enemy organization. I toss in the occasional grunt to demonstrate that I’m still moving under my own conscious power and he doesn’t nettle me about it.

But then, suddenly, as we come abreast of the door to my rooms, Duo steps in front of me and blocks my access to the door’s keypad. “So, what _did_ you tell him?” he demands with an almost feral light in his eyes. I blink at him once before he elaborates: “Super Nerd? When he asked?”

Dear God, but this man is tenacious. I place both of my hands on his shoulders and bodily maneuver him away from the keypad. When I’ve relocated him to my satisfaction, I say, “The same thing I’m going to tell you, MacGyver.” I punch in my access code, not bothering to hide the number sequence from Duo. “Not a damn thing. Good night.”

Then I shoulder open the door and shrug it shut behind me. Alone at last.

It’s weird as hell to be shut away in a room away from Duo. I don’t think I’ve been out of his sight for a significant period of time since we’d returned to Earth. Hell, even that bit of creepy me-time I’d had after that, uh, elevator... um... scene hadn’t lasted for more than an hour or so. I suppose. I mean, it’s not like I’d been watching the clock or anything.

With a deep breath, I force myself to derail that train of thought. I step into the bathroom and collect my toothbrush and tell myself that I do _not_ need to invite Duo over here to spend the night curled up with me. I am an adult. I can handle sleeping alone in the dark. I tell myself I’m looking forward to crawling into bed and closing my eyes. And when I finally find myself cocooned in the blankets on the more or less comfortable mattress, I think that I really might have been telling myself the truth for once.

And with that thought, I close my eyes.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

I can’t decide what’s worse: _knowing_ something’s going on but being unable to find out what it is... and thinking something _might_ be going on but unable to translate the hopelessly vague shifting feeling in your gut. I kinda suspect that both scenarios totally bite in their own ways. But at the moment, I’m attempting to deal with the latter. And, well, we all know how well I “deal” with my instincts being messed with. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not much to go on, but it’s not like I was really interested in tottering off to beddy-bye anyway.

Ducking out into the hall, I stalk past Heero’s door without more than a glance at it. Sure, I could drag him around the building with me, but what would be the point? It’s not like we can discuss anything of importance here and, let’s face it, the guy’s exhausted. But, with the month he’s had, who wouldn’t be?

And here I am ready to run laps around the damn complex just to burn off these infuriating _maybes_. I stifle a sigh as I realize that I’d left my rooms without more than just that for a goal. I mean, it’s not as if I actually _expect_ to observe some underhanded scheme in progress while I’m meandering around during the night cycle, but you never know. And, honestly, I’ve always preferred my methods of observation to electronic treasure hunts. Perhaps that’s why Heero and I make such a great team...

But no, that’s not true. Heero and I have always made a great team because we’ve constantly challenged each other in different ways. And of course, the respect has always been there. And... if I let myself admit it, so has the caring. Hell, after Heero’d self-destructed during the war, it had been obvious that I’d given a damn about him. But maybe I’d started caring even further back than that.

My mind very helpfully shoves the uncomfortable memory of me breaking into an Alliance affiliated hospital and offering my only parachute to a near-stranger... and then having to watch him pass out in mid-fall. I normally try not to remember the time when Heero almost hadn’t opened his parachute. But for some reason, he’d snapped out of it at the last possible moment. And the bastard had come away from that harrowing experience with only a broken leg.

I consider what I can remember of my actions back then, of the help I’d offered him, of the connection I’d tentatively tried to create despite his being the Original Curmudgeon TM.

Damn. I guess I’d cared even that far back.

Shit.

I am such an utter asshole. Do nice, normal people without an assload of emotional baggage usually take the better part of four years to realize they care for someone? The answer has got to be no.

You know, for the record, introspection sucks.

I continue my meandering, eyes watchful and ears perked even as my thoughts and memories from the war drift through my awareness. Most of this shit I haven’t thought about since it’d happened... but tonight seems to be a bit of an odd night. I mean, for one thing, I’m wandering aimlessly while _voluntarily_ reminiscing about a time in my life that doesn’t exactly inspire sweet dreams...

And it’s just when I’ve had this thought that things start getting interesting.

“Felix? Is that you?”

I turn toward the open door of the small laboratory Heero and I had finished with right before we’d beaten a path to the dubious comforts of the employee cafeteria. I blink at Adamsson’s assistant as if I’d been surprised out of some deep thought or other.

“Hey, man,” I greet in a tone that sounds automatic.

The man frowns at me. “What are you doing still awake?”

I shrug. “Sometimes I just can’t get comfortable my first night in a new place, you know?” Which is, oddly enough, true. My first night is _always_ spent learning the rhythm of the darkness around me. It’s vital to the once-was street-kid part of my brain that I be able to differentiate the strange nighttime noises from the usual ones, even while I’m asleep.

The man hums thoughtfully. “Never had that problem myself, but then, I wasn’t raised a MacGyver.”

I chuckle. “A childhood trauma if there is one,” I agree. And then, with a slight frown, I ask, “So, what are you doing up at this hour if you’re not a fellow insomniac?”

“The usual. Working. Now that you and Rupert have adjusted everything to the correct settings in this room, I can finish compiling the data I need for a project that’s due in a few days.”

“Ah, crunch time?” I ask with a note of sympathy.

“How aptly put. But where are my manners? Come in and have a seat.”

“Oh, no,” I murmur. “You have work to do. I don’t want to disturb you.” Although being in such close proximity to one of the employees here while he’s working might open a window or two into this investigation...

“You won’t. It’s a completely mindless – if necessary – task.”

“Well... all right. For a little while anyway.” So I tromp into the lab and make myself comfortable in a swiveling chair a few feet away from Nedly. We pass several minutes in companionable small talk. I suppose I hadn’t exactly been fair when I’d bitched about this guy earlier. Heero’s right about him; he’s not so bad if you can just keep him from launching off about his pet projects.

“So, when you can’t sleep do you usually wander around looking like a man who’s carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders?”

I grin. “I don’t make it a habit to think about anything nearly that profound.” Which is why my thoughts from earlier still seem so damn _weird_. I mean, since when do I ever comb through my own past? I may be a masochist but I don’t want to become either homicidally enraged or suicidally depressed. Weekends are short enough without inviting _those _old demons across the threshold to join the party.

“I thought perhaps you’d been considering an answer to your situation.”

“What situation is that?” I query, reaching for and expressing my confusion rather than any anxiety that comment might have generated.

“The reason for why you’re unhappy at the moment, of course.”

“Who says I’m unhappy? Maybe I’m just impatient?” I suggest, leaning back in my chair and leaning my chin in one hand. The stack of printouts beneath my elbow makes an adequate cushion where it rests on the long table and I find myself settling in a bit further.

“Everyone’s unhappy in some way, shape, or form,” the assistant tells me as he clicks away through columns of numbers on the computer screen.

“And you figure you’re, what?... like the Happiness Enforcer?”

The man is smack dab directly in my line of sight, so regardless of how relaxed I appear to be, I can’t _not_ notice his moment of hesitation. “Well... no. But people really ought to do something to achieve their own happiness.”

I let myself frown. “Well... yeah. But let’s be honest. People are lazy. Or they’ve become used to being unhappy. Nobody changes habits like those spontaneously.”

A small grin tugs at the assistant’s mouth as he continues highlighting and clicking away. With a suppressed air of triumph, he replies, “Exactly.”

And suddenly, I’m wide awake. And that sensation alarms me. Hadn’t I been fully aware of my surroundings when I’d wandered in here? I _thought_ I had... but now it feels like I’ve managed to break the surface of a warm pool.

What the hell?

I force myself to appear unaffected by all of this. But with that famous paranoia of mine resurfacing, I can’t resist goading him, “You’d be a very rich man if you could sell the world happiness. Too bad it’d never last.”

At this, his smile only widens. “Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he eats for rest of his life.” He shakes his head, amused by some private joke I hope I’m misunderstanding. “Everyone has a dream, a need, a desire. They just need a little... direction.” And then the man slides a glance that’s positively calculating in my direction, “So tell me. Have you determined a way to achieve your goals yet, Mr. MacGyver?”

And there’s really only one response to the cunning manipulation radiating from the man opposite me:

Holy fucking hell.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Usually, when sleep eludes me, it’s for a reason.

And I’ll be damned if I know what it is tonight. 

I flop onto my back with a frustrated sigh and stare up at the blank, grey landscape of my ceiling. And as I actually find myself studying this unremarkable neosteel panel, I think it’s kind of a shame that I couldn’t work something into that virus I’d written using the metal tile above the beds in the residences.

But then, before I can feel more than a twinge of amusement at the idea of hapless sleepers levitating toward their ceilings, I’m drawn into the reality of what I actually _had_ written into that virus.

My own death.

And it would have happened, too, if Duo hadn’t arrived when he had. Which brings me to the second disturbing aspect of the whole thing: the fact that I’d convinced myself I’d checked in with him when I actually hadn’t... in order to get him to come out here and save me from myself.

I’m not even sure if any of this makes any sense. Can my training actually malfunction and try to destroy me? It’s very own conduit? Does my subconscious really have the ability to plan and time something so elaborate? Something which depends completely on Duo’s characteristic impatience?

And then there’s the second instance from a few days ago in my apartment. Had I left the phone off the hook rather than simply turn on my voice mail because my subconscious had been anticipating something destructive from my training? But then, I _had_ been destructive, hadn’t I?

I wonder what Duo did with the remains of the cactus and I try not to wince at the pang that twists the muscles in my chest tighter.

The evidence seems to suggest that my training really is violently unpredictable while my subconscious is continually sending out cries for help. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. There are so many things about that theory that bother me... I can’t even begin to sort it all out. And that’s the last thing I want to do right now, anyway.

I curl onto my side and wish I’d swallowed my pride and invited Duo to stay with me tonight, rumors and unprofessionalism be damned. But I hadn’t. And this is _my_ problem after all. I know I have to come to some sort of resolution regarding it soon. Because if it manages to become _other_ people’s problem as well... by then it’ll be too late.

What does the world do to malfunctioning soldiers who have a subconscious that will go to unknown lengths for the sole purpose of survival? What would J have done?

And if there’s one thought in the world – that doesn’t involve harm coming to Duo – that could bring me nightmares, it’s that.

God... I _know_ the answer to that question: I _know_ what J would have done. After all, he’d done it before.

Retraining.

That is, if he’d determined that I was still needed. Still useful. Still necessary.

And if not...

Well, in all actuality, deactivation might be a kindness compared to retraining.

Damn. Listen to me. I sound like I’m discussing a misbehaving pet dog or a computer on the fritz.

With a second sigh, I reflop onto my back and glare at the ceiling again. This is getting me nowhere. Except even further entangled in my depressing circumstances. It’s obvious to me that I need a distraction. And there’s really only one person who can do that for me.

So, I roll out of bed and straighten my T-shirt and shorts. I stuff my feet into my dress shoes, sans socks, and head out the door. I don’t care that my hair is probably standing up all over the place, or that I must look damn funny in my black sleep wear and polished leather shoes. I march purposefully down the hall to Duo’s room and press the call button and wait.

And wait.

And _wait._

What the hell? I frown at the key pad and announce my presence yet again.

And yet again there’s no answer.

Okay, enough of this shit. Whatever Duo’s doing in there he can just-–

The thought collapses in on itself as the obvious occurs to me. It’s not that Duo _isn’t _answering his door. It’s because he’s not even _there_ to hear my call.

Suddenly my heart is pounding painfully in my chest. I damn him for wandering off like this... without back up or telling me or...

But then, maybe he _had_ told me. In a way. Perhaps there’s note left for me in his rooms. And with that, I try the door. It’s locked but it only takes me a minute of trying Duo’s favorite number combinations before I hit on the right one.

The door slides open revealing an empty room. Don’t ask me why I’d still been hoping to walk in and see him standing just behind the door, his face a mask of hostile efficiency, and a cocked and loaded gun pointed at the spot between my eyes.

But he isn’t there. And there’s no note that I can see.

And I’m starting to lose patience.

Is it really so much to ask that he’d clue me in on these sorts of things? I mean, for the love of peace, all I really want is a little consideration from–-

I freeze. Completely.

The echo of my thoughts is almost a presence in and of itself: _All I really want._

And suddenly, I understand what that weird almost-recollection I’d experienced earlier means.

I remember Adamsson’s assistant asking me during my first assignment, “I’ve noticed that your job doesn’t really seem to be, uh, challenging you, Rupert. So what is it you _really_ want?”

And I remember sitting in a room – the mirror image of this one – my hands frozen above my laptop’s keypad and a half-finished virus staring back at me on the screen as I’d realized a single truth. I would do _anything_ to be Duo’s friend.

Oh. God.

It all comes together so fast I feel a little nauseous. All the pieces zoom into place. The handful of tiny, little details I shouldn’t have forgotten, but somehow had.

The question the assistant had asked me. And it’s mate: “And how are you going to achieve your goal?”

I’d _thought_ I hadn’t answered those questions. But I had. I just hadn’t answered them _verbally._ But then, the man hadn’t been trying to get me to talk, had he?

And then the last detail. Arguably, the most important one, visits me.

Adamsson’s assistant had approached me with his questions while we’d been in a small laboratory. The same laboratory, in fact, that he’d quizzed Duo in earlier today.

I’m out the door and racing down the hall like a shot. I don’t particularly care that my shoes hadn’t been designed for running in... especially without socks. If I slow down, I know the panic will overtake my mind and I absolutely, positively can_not_ let that happen.

I must be making enough noise to rival the Earth’s great Serengeti migration, but it’s a secondary – and unimportant – detail. I’m panting harshly, a little from exertion but mostly from stress. My goal isn’t exactly clear to me. Am I running to save Duo? To tell him what I’ve discovered? Or am I in pursuit of a suspect?

When I burst into the small laboratory four _very_ long minutes later, I’m surprised to find _both _of my quarries in residence.

And I blink in numb shock as I notice one of them has bound and restrained the other with a colorful assortment of electrical cords.

“Yo, man.”

I stand there gaping, in my pj’s and dress shoes, until Duo’s grin widens even further and he gestures toward a very scared-looking pharmacist, “I was just explaining to our buddy here that it’s a kinda serious felony to fuck with the minds of Preventer agents. Speaking of... you don’t have your badge and cuffs on you, by any chance, do ya?”

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

The average person would take one look at me and assume that I’m in perfect control of the situation. That person would also assume that I find the aforementioned situation somewhat humorous.

The average person would be wrong. And that individual may very well be _dead _wrong, considering the mood I’m in right now.

So, despite my flippant greeting to Heero, I’m all for bludgeoning Adamsson’s assistant to a painful and agonizing death with whatever’s handy. I suppose the gleam of that bloody fantasy must have been dancing in my eyes because Heero hadn’t even waited for me to make the suggestion before insisting that putting the bastard out of our misery would not succeed in delivering justice. If only for the sole reason that it would make mountains more paperwork for us if our suspect happens to die while in custody.

Needless to say, that little factoid doesn’t make me happy. So I commence with shooting off jokes and flashing razor sharp smiles. Heero doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the fact that I’m quite obviously _not_ treating this entire situation with the degree of sobriety it deserves. But honestly, the frequent and inappropriate use of humor is the _only_ way I can let off enough steam in order to keep my hands off the bastard.

And it’s just as well that during the inevitable circus which follows no one had attempted to... regulate me. Because if some poor, random fool had been stupid enough to try to deny me my facetiousness, I would have launched my fist into Nedly’s sweating face in a heartbeat.

It also doesn’t help that Heero and I had been forced to ask the local law enforcement people for a place to keep our prisoner. Seeing as how nobody’s life is in _obvious_ danger at the moment, Heero and I can’t really justify borrowing the first ship that suits our purposes and hightailing it back to HQ. Especially since I’m _technically_ not even supposed to be in uniform. The only reason Une had agreed to send me instead of Wufei had been because it’d been made completely obvious during that first meeting in Une’s office following Heero’s convalescence that Heero trusts me without reservation. Which implies that I have the ability to handle him, as crude as that sounds.

So here I am, stuck on the moon for the time being, stalking through the halls of the local law enforcement division. Halls that are very familiar to me... for good reason.

I’d kinda hoped to never-again-for-as-long-as-I-live see the inside of another Lunar Base detention cell, but Fate really seems to enjoy raining on my parade.

Beside me, Heero’s presence is somewhat... grounding. We both know I’m not calm and we both know I’m unlikely to be calm anytime soon. But his acceptance of my volatile temper settles me just enough to prevent me from losing it completely. Which, let me assure you, is necessary. Especially considering the interview we’re about to begin.

For a moment, my attention is directed away from my own fire-and-brimstone ire and I wonder if Heero is going to be all right. After all, he hasn’t heard our suspect’s story yet. But I’m curious how much of it Heero’d managed to put together before he’d made his grand entrance into the lab.

We draw even with the detention cell door and by unspoken agreement, we both hesitate. The halls echo with our silence and I find myself reaching for his hand. “Heero?” I whisper, letting him see my concern.

He nods once and summons up something that looks kinda like a smile, but because of the flat look in his eyes obviously isn’t. I suppose it’s the best answer I’m going to get, so I pull the access card from my pocket and swipe it through the reader beside the door.

“Knock knock,” I call as I step over the threshold to face the man who’d had the nerve to fuck with my partner.

I give myself a moment to get my roaring emotions under some semblance of control. As I do so, I absorb the sight of the man. Being arrested, it appears, hasn’t really agreed with him. He looks shaken and ill but that doesn’t deter me. In fact, I feel my predatory instincts rising to the forefront.

“You can guess the reason for the visit, I’m sure.” I grin and I show so many teeth my lips hurt from the stretch. “You’re going to repeat the story that you told me to my partner.” I pause long enough to heat up my glare another hundred degrees. “You’re going to explain – in detail – what you’ve done to one of your _subjects_,” I spit out viciously just to see him wince. And yes, it is rather gratifying.

Heero takes a seat at the table, across from our Nedders but I remain by the door, leaning in the corner. I still don’t trust myself not to come across the table at the guy, but like fucking hell I’m leaving Heero in here alone with him.

His story is actually rather fascinating – if you overlook the fact that he’s done this to real people – and fantastic. Hell, I’m _still_ having a hard time believing it even with him stumbling through yet another explanation of it for Heero’s sake.

It all revolves around a drug. Which, considering the man’s profession, isn’t that much of a stretch of the imagination. But imagine a drug that when vaporized and inhaled by a subject grants a varying level of access to that person’s subconscious mind. How had he managed to control something like that? Well, he’d had quite the sweet little set up in that lab of his. Independent ventilation systems had been installed in every laboratory as a safety measure and he’d rigged his to administer the odorless vapor. He’d created various excuses to see people in that room and had thoughtlessly used them to test his pet project. One by one, his coworkers had been asked the same basic questions. Questions specifically chosen to encourage that individual’s subconscious to recognize their deepest, fondest desire... and formulate a plan to achieve it. And _none_ of this is the subject consciously aware of.

Is that, like, the biggest load of bullshit or what? I’d seriously thought ol’ Nedly had just been fucking around with me. But when I’d asked him how he’d managed to avoid the effects of his goofy gas, he’d succinctly replied that if he wore a specifically medicated patch, the gas was completely harmless.

I don’t even want to think about how many _subjects _that took before he’d managed to brew up the right formula.

So... Wufei and I had been right after all. It _hadn’t_ been brainwashing. Or even memory manipulation. But someone had still dared to screw with Heero’s mind. And for that, the little geeky bastard is going to fucking _pay._ And not because he’d done something with complete disregard for morality and an individual’s right to privacy. No, he’s going to pay for a far simpler reason: he’d hurt Heero.

Because of his idiotic and ill-researched experimentation, Heero’s subconscious had been fairly _ordered_ to formulate a plan that would result in Heero achieving his most cherished dream. A plan which had included his near-death and my cavalry charge to save him. All of it timed so precisely that, had any individual event occurred with the slightest variation, Heero would at this moment either be dead or plotting a new scenario to follow through on.

_All without his knowledge._

Think about that. Heero Yuy. Former Gundam pilot. Terrorist. Assassin. Soldier. Formulating missions without conscious thought. And for what end?

Now, if that doesn’t give you nightmares, _nothing_ will.

And I’m wondering how Heero’s going to take it.

I tune back in just as the great Ass of an assistant is wrapping up his little spiel: “I was only testing its effectiveness with normal people. The drug isn’t nearly as effective if the subject is aware of it, so it had to be done secretly. I just want to help people! It’s designed to encourage individuals to move beyond their fears in order to achieve happiness!”

I watch Heero’s face and note his complete lack of expression. Both of his hands are on the table and both are curled into fists. But otherwise, he’s as still as stone.

“They help me by providing data and I help them find happiness. It’s a true symbiotic relationship. If I can perfect it, think of what it could do for people with phobias! It has the potential to eliminate their irrational fears and let them live full, healthy lives! Isn’t that worth it?”

A very long moment stretches painfully taut in the dull room. So taut that I think the next breath I take will vibrate in the air like a tuning fork.

And then Heero replies. His voice is so soft, so incredibly quiet, but I hear him with perfect clarity.

“Your first mistake, was to assume I was exactly who I said I was. You trusted the cover story I gave you and performed your experiment on someone who is _not_ and never has been ‘normal.’”

The assistant blinks at Heero, clearly surprised by this response.

“You were careless and missed crucial information about my background which could and _did_ affect the results of your experiment. If I’m to believe your account, and if I can find evidence to support it, then I will make sure additional charges are filed against you.”

“A-additional charges?!” the man sputters.

Tonelessly, Heero informs him, “The endangerment of peacekeeping officers is a serious crime.”

And with that, Heero moves to stand up from the table.

“Wait!” our suspect barks out suddenly. “Didn’t the experiment help you confront your fears? Aren’t you closer to achieving your goal of happiness than you were before?”

In a way, I can almost understand this man’s desperation. For sure, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison. But certainly, he doesn’t want to spend it there knowing that his life’s work which he’d intended for the betterment of humankind had actually caused harm.

Heero pauses and gazes down at the man. With complete calm, he replies, “I’m not even close to facing down my fears. Which brings me to your second mistake.”

In a barely-there whisper, the man chokes out, “Which was?”

“You assumed that you could cure fear. It’s not a disease. It is, in fact, every person’s _right_ to face down his or her fears. It is their choice: to do it or not. To take not only that decision but also that potential victory away from someone is to deny them their greatest desire.” Heero pauses a moment and draws in one more breath. “All desires come from a fear of something. Fear of loneliness, rejection, uncertainty, death, life... The greatest satisfaction a person can experience in and of themselves is the conquering of that fear.”

And with that, Heero Yuy turns away from the startled scientist and meets my gaze.

I have known many honorable people in my life. I have also known many brilliant ones. There have been the tenacious and the talented as well. The kind and the generous. But I can honestly say that I have _never_ been more proud of anyone in my entire life than I am of my partner, Heero Yuy, in this moment.

All of my zealous rage fizzles down, suddenly so insignificant compared with what I feel for this man in front of me. I suppose I could try to name an emotion this intense, this all-encompassing. I could try to trap it with words. Could try to physically capture it in my callused hands.

But I won’t. And I don’t. I simply put my hand on Heero’s shoulder and steer him out of the room. I make our excuses to the police officers who try to waylay us along our journey and all the while I keep Heero moving in the direction of the door. Somewhere out there in this cursed former-Oz base is a quiet room with a comfortable couch just waiting for Heero and me to curl up on it.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Search and seizure warrants. Forensics. The procurement of secure transportation. Reports. Debriefing. The standard post-assignment health check-up. All of it seems to happen at once. And contrary to popular belief, none of it is remotely interesting or exciting. It is, in fact, utterly draining.

Even though the days following a major break or a promising arrest in a case can be pretty crazy, it’s never seemed quite this overwhelming before... but then I’m pretty sure that God hates me.

I blindly grope for the light switch on my way out of my office. I really couldn’t care less if I leave the light on over the weekend, but after two years the motion is one hundred per cent pure habit.

I pass my hand over my face as I let the Preventer HQ hallways funnel me down toward Duo’s office. This is the part of my day I’ve been looking forward to since Duo and I had disembarked from our shuttle with suspect in tow this morning. 

I allow my expression to soften as I recall Duo’s presence over the last three days. During those seventy-two plus hours, I’d alternated between dealing with all the tedious and nit-picky details required for wrapping up an assignment and leaning against Duo’s shoulder on strange couches. And I know that Une seems to believe I live to defy the old “no man is an island” saying, but nothing could be further from the truth. If someone must be an island, then that person is Duo. And I’m the silent jungle that sinks its roots into the soil. He holds me safe above the waves. And I hold him together against the occasional storm.

At those somewhat poetic thoughts, I shake my head and wonder if I’m still under the influence of those damned suggestions. But I know I’m not. In fact, the effects of the drug itself wouldn’t have lasted more than an hour. And the only thing required to successfully counter the suggestions themselves is the conscious awareness and acceptance of them. Which explains the virus and my purposeful non-communication with Duo. And it answers for my destruction of the only plant I’d ever owned and my having left the vidphone off the hook. Hell, it probably even explains why I’d confessed the depth of my attachment to him while Duo and I had argued in the HQ elevator the week before.

You know, it’s not often things in life get wrapped up so neatly. 

I know I ought to be happy now. Duo’s fine. I’m fine. And we got the guy we’d gone after. Mission complete... more or less, anyway. Still, the ache in my chest hasn’t gone away. Maybe I need one more night beside Duo on my couch.

I turn the corner and see Duo’s office door standing open. As I cross the remaining distance, I notice the fact the Duo isn’t alone. I slow my approach and wait for a clue as to the identity of his guest. I don’t want to interrupt him if it’s an important conversation.

“... thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“It was a small thing to take care of this for you in your absence, Maxwell,” I hear Wufei reply. “And you can thank me by convincing Heero to let me make you both dinner tonight at my place.”

“You’re taking it upon yourself to save us from calling out for delivery?”

“Someone has to.”

“And here I didn’t think you’d been paying attention whenever I’d mentioned what Heero and I’d been living off of. You know, no matter what the secretaries call you, you’re just a big teddy bear with warm, squishy filling, Wuf.”

Wufei snorts and I smile.

“So,” Duo continues accompanied by the squeaking of two chairs being relieved of their burdens, “let’s go find Heero and convince him, then.”

At this moment, I step into the doorway and lean against the frame. I watch Duo zip up his travel bag and I catch a glimpse of some kind of small-ish cardboard box before it’s concealed completely. “No need,” I inform them with a friendly – if tired – smirk. “Convince me now.”

“Yuy. Excellent timing. You’re going to let Maxwell give you a ride home and you’re going to relax before the two of you will arrive at my apartment at nineteen hundred hours.”

I meet Duo’s gaze and we mutely share a look of amused surprise. After a moment, I transfer my attention to Wufei. “If you’re waiting for us to object, we’re going to be here for awhile.”

“Excellent,” Wufei replies. He nods with satisfaction and gathers his jacket up from the back of Duo’s guest chair. He and I wait for Duo to turn off the lights and lock his office then all three of us meander down to the elevators. We don’t talk about work. Mostly, I listen to Duo trying to get Wufei to tell us what’s on tonight’s menu. The sound of his voice is the balm my unsettled soul needs tonight and I soak it up unrepentantly.

We part ways in the parking garage and I collapse into the passenger side of Duo’s car. He doesn’t turn on the radio, but we both roll the windows down as we emerge onto the street. It’s a nice evening and the wind scrubbing over my face and through my hair is cleansing.

“You know,” Duo muses as he slows for a red light. “I think Wufei missed us. That was a classic display of withdraw.”

“Withdraw from what, exactly?” I inquire.

“Bossing us around? Mediating between us? Who knows. The guy’s a total head case.”

I laugh and Duo grins back at me, sharing the joke. “Pot, meet kettle,” I reply when I have the breath.

“Hey. If you’re going to compare me to kitchenware, at least liken me to something cool.”

I offer up a few off-hand suggestions and we end up debating the coolness-factor of various utensils and appliances. Duo’s witty commentary keeps the smile on my face during the entire ride to my apartment. By the time we’re in the elevator, we’ve moved on to discussing “manly” window treatments. Apparently floral and/or pastel valances don’t qualify.

Duo waits patiently for me to unlock the door and deactivate the security system. I kick off my shoes and wander into the living room. Behind me, I can hear Duo following my example. I sweep my gaze over the room, part of me checking for anything out of place and part of me just glad to be looking at familiar surroundings again. But then my attention is snagged by the empty window sill beside the couch.

Damn. Just... damn.

I’m not quite sure how to articulate the disappointment I feel. Am I angry with myself for having killed Duo’s present? With having let it slip my mind that I had? With still expecting to see it there? With not being able to watch it bloom next year? All of the above?

“Hm...” Duo muses from directly behind me. If I’d still possessed the feeling in the skin along my back and neck, I probably would have been able to feel his body heat through my shirt. Yet another thing to wish for...

Into my silence, Duo comments lightly, “This place looks like it needs something...” And with that, one hand arcs around me, holding up the box I’d seen him zip up inside his bag back at HQ.

With a slight frown, I take the parcel from him. I may not be able to feel his heat, but I can feel the pressure of his weight against my muscles. He lowers his chin to my shoulder and wraps his arms around my waist. His silence is as comforting as his unexpected embrace and I feel myself relaxing into him.

I pry the lid off the box and what I see inside steals the breath from my throat. “You...” I hear myself say on an exhalation.

His arms tighten around me. “Your window sill seemed kinda empty without it.”

I stare down at the tiny cactus carefully packed in the box. I can see that the pot is new and slightly different from the original. A little bigger. But the plant itself... I can see on one side where quite a few of the spines had been broken off by impact. The barrel is also slightly lopsided, but otherwise, it looks fine.

“I... I don’t understand. When I threw it...”

Duo gives me another reassuring squeeze. “It looked a lot worse than it really was. The spines actually absorbed and dispersed a lot of the impact. Mostly what you saw was the roots all tangled up. I just had to repot it and ask Wufei to babysit it for me while we were gone.”

Still stunned and unable to comprehend what I’m holding in my hands, I lean away far enough to look into his eyes. “But, _how_...?”

I both watch and feel Duo shrug behind me. “I like fixing things, Heero. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

I don’t know what to say. I just stare down at the cactus I never thought I’d have another chance to watch bloom. I’m tied up in all the words I could say but just aren’t heavy enough to convey the sincerity of my meaning. How is it Duo Maxwell always manages to give me the impossible?

Drawing in a shaky breath, I murmur the only thing I can think of to tell him, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well... a ‘thank you, Duo’ would be nice,” he teases me gently.

I feel a smile coming over me and I dutifully parrot his words back to him: “Thank you, Duo.”

“You’re welcome, man.” Our gazes remain locked for a long moment before his grin brightens and his eyes narrow in a warm smile. “That wasn’t half bad for a first attempt,” he congratulates me. “Maybe next time you could try giving me a kiss, too.”

My breath freezes in my lungs even as my heart starts beating double time at the thought. I don’t try to hide my reaction. Duo’s wrapped around me so completely I know he can feel it with his entire body. The moment stretches between us but Duo doesn’t release his hold on me, doesn’t twitch, barely breathes.

And eventually, I find enough of my voice to answer him. “Maybe I will.”

His answering smile is so brilliant it makes my chest ache. I’m tempted to lean forward and try giving him that kiss now, but he briefly tightens his arms around me one last time before stepping away and collecting his bag.

“Is it all right if I use your bathroom to change out of my uniform? Then we’ll hang out on the couch and watch your cactus grow for a while?”

A soft chuckle vibrates past my lips. “Yeah. Go for it.”

I watch him walk away but not until the bathroom door closes behind him do I move. Striding into my own room and quickly changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I can’t help but marvel at the sight of the little cactus currently sitting on my dresser, patiently waiting to be restored to its rightful spot on the window sill in the other room. How many things that I’d thought I’d never get a chance to experience has Duo made possible in the last hour? And, thinking further back, how many things I’d once believed to be impossible has he offered me since we’d first met?

I can’t even begin to count them.

But I _can _allow myself to experience them.

And, I decide, right now is the perfect time to start.

** **~ End of PARTNERS ~** **

**Author's Note:**

> Gundam Wing fanfic news & updates can be found on my Kofi page -- https://ko-fi.com/manny -- where I blog and (occasionally) post shinies and (compulsively) caffeinate. If you are inclined to support my habit, you can do so here. (^_~)
> 
> Also! My GW fanfic and fanart hub is still-always-and-forever at LiveJournal -- themanwell.livejournal.com


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